The Last Ride of Caleb O'Toole (13 page)

“Don't matter how many times I pass through here, it gives me pause.” Johnson grabbed his Henry rifle and racked a bullet into the chamber. Then he reached for his telescope and checked the hills. “Looks pretty quiet though, don't it?”

“Hold that thought 'til we get through Mitchell Pass,” said Posey. “Caleb, why don't you take Pride up ahead while we scout along the sides of these cliffs?”

“Naw, I'll go.” Johnson checked out the trail with his telescope. “I'll fire one if there's trouble. Two and you know what to do.” The trapper kicked his horse ahead and soon disappeared through the rocks and scrub trees.

“I'll head left and you ride up on the right. Got that?” Posey nodded at Caleb as he moved toward the cliffs on the left of the trail.

“What's two for?” asked Caleb nervously.

“Run like the devil,” said Posey over his shoulder.

***

Caleb took a deep breath and led Pride through the grassy hills toward the vast rock cliffs on the right, his senses alert for every sound. He reached for his rifle and checked to make sure it was loaded. His eyes were clear and sharp as he watched a hawk circle lazily in the sky. Caleb took a deep breath, his nostrils filling with the scent of dust and grass. Every fiber in his soul was alive, ready to warn him of the slightest danger. As he rode close along the huge rocky mountain, he could see initials carved into the sandstone, initials made by travelers passing through. Some were dated thirty years before. Pride suddenly jumped back in alarm and skittered on the rocky trail. Caleb pulled him back farther, curious to see what spooked the big warhorse. Then he heard the
rattle
of warning. Just to the side of the trail, a massive rattlesnake lay perfectly coiled and hidden in the grass. Caleb had seen many during the journey. At first, they were quite frightening. But as the weeks passed, Caleb accepted them as part of their travels, and he made sure to give the poisonous vipers a wide berth.
Don't bother them and they won't bother you
, he thought,
just don't get yourself bit by one
. He sat on Pride and watched the snake as it calmed and ceased its rattling, slowly disappearing into the hidden grassy world.

It had been an hour since he had seen either Posey or Johnson as Caleb worked the right side of Mitchell Pass. It was eerily quiet. The insect sounds buzzed faintly, and a gentle breeze and the whisper of prairie grass were Caleb's only companions. That and the steady breathing of Pride. Caleb paused near some trees and dismounted, stretching the ache from the miles in the saddle, weeks on the trail. He lifted his canteen from the saddle horn, popped off the cork, and took a long drink. As he stuck the cork back in, something caught his eye. It was ever so faint, the movement on the cliff. Was it an animal? A coyote? He shifted his gaze farther along the trail and saw another slight movement. Then another. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he leaped onto Pride. Something was wrong!

The blast of two shots echoed through the canyon. Racing like a madman, Posey came galloping up toward Caleb, fear frozen on the man's face as he tore past.

“Run!” shouted Posey as he whipped Devil in a furious gallop. “Get back to the wagons! There's Sioux hidden all over the trail!”

“Where's Johnson?” cried Caleb as he rode Pride alongside Posey.

“They got him trapped!” Posey lashed Devil hard. “He's lost. Run, boy!”

“Is he dead?” shouted Caleb.

“He will be,” yelled Posey. “Save yourself!”

Several more gunshots boomed in the distance. Then Caleb heard the loud report of Johnson's Henry rifle. He's alive! As Posey galloped back toward the wagon train, Caleb turned Pride and headed fast in the direction of the gunfire. Ben Johnson was fighting for his life, and all Caleb could think about was trying to help the trapper. “Ya, Pride!” Caleb rode like the wind toward the smoke of gunpowder, Pride's thundering hooves tearing up the trail.

Branches tore at Caleb's face as he pushed Pride hard through a cluster of pine trees along a dry riverbed. As he came to a clearing, he saw Johnson firing from some boulders a hundred yards away. Drawing closer, he could see his friend was bleeding from an arrow in his chest, struggling to reload his Henry rifle. Two Indians lay dead or wounded in the dirt in front of him. Dozens more Sioux were climbing down the cliff on the left, some firing guns while others shot arrows from their bows. Caleb grabbed his Sharps, leaped off Pride, and took cover in rocks. Crawling on his belly, he made his way to his right to try to protect his friend from behind.
THWACK
. Another arrow caught the trapper in the thigh and he crashed to the ground near the two fallen Sioux. Johnson's death loomed ever closer and he no longer had the strength to aim his heavy rifle. He reached for his pistol as a warrior leaped toward him with a tomahawk. Caleb aimed and fired just in time. The Indian grabbed his shoulder and went down. Caleb slid under a rocky overhang and fired and reloaded with precision. The advancing warriors began to scatter behind boulders for cover. Caleb ducked down quickly as arrows flew into the granite rocks just over his head. Johnson staggered toward his horse on the other side of the boulders, waving his pistol, signaling Caleb to move away. Caleb grabbed more bullets and ran back toward Pride, firing his Sharps as fast as he could. His heart pounded, but he also felt a strange sense of calm and purpose. Johnson fired his Colt at the Sioux hidden behind the rocks as he tried to get to his horse, pulling at the arrow in his chest.

Caleb leaped onto Pride and circled through the scrub trees until he got behind the Indians, firing quickly as he tried to draw their attention away from his friend. “Come on!” cried Caleb. “You can make it!” Caleb swung the Sharps and got off a shot as an Indian tried to run up and shoot an arrow into Johnson's horse. The Sioux warrior's leg buckled and he went to the ground. Johnson fired his Colt again and again as he struggled onto his horse and bolted from the ambush. Caleb turned Pride around and raced through the trees after Johnson.

“Go, boy! Let's get out of here!” Blood was pouring from the arrow wound in Johnson's chest, and he desperately gripped the reins. “Take the Henry!” He threw the big rifle, and Caleb caught it as they sped away from the Indians.

They were everywhere along the cliffs! Caleb could see all around him as the Indians exposed themselves, firing from their hiding places. “Go, Pride!” yelled Caleb as he brought the repeater Henry rifle to bear. Caleb kept up a steady fire as they raced back through Mitchell Pass toward the wagon train. Johnson, bleeding from his wounds, gripped his saddle horn and bent low. An arrow screamed by Caleb and tore off his hat. A flash of pain seared across his head and a trickle of blood blinded his right eye for a second, but Caleb brushed it away. He let go of the reins and fired the Henry to his left as an Indian rose to launch another arrow. The Sioux warrior went down, but Caleb felt the impact of the arrow as it grazed his left shoulder, tearing through his shirt. Another arrow hit Johnson in his side, and he struggled desperately to stay on his horse.

“Go on, Caleb, save yourself. I'm killed. Go on!”

“We'll make it!” Caleb grabbed the other horse's reins and ducked down. An arrow grazed Pride through his mane, but the big horse kept pounding his way through the pass. Caleb looked over his shoulder. Many of the Indians had mounted and were riding down hard after them. On Caleb and Johnson rode, just ahead of the Sioux warriors. It seemed the farther back through the pass they went, the more Indians appeared along the cliffs. It was an ambush of some planning. Time stood still as they rode like wind, until finally they could see the wagons. They had nearly circled at the entrance to Scotts Bluff, but left a small opening that was big enough to ride through. The rocky cliffs echoed with the Sioux gunfire from behind.

Caleb raced Pride down toward the wagon train, Johnson's horse in hand. Bullets tore through the air all around him. Blood poured from his aching shoulder. Finally, they galloped through the opening in the circle, just as some men pushed two large wagons together, closing the entrance shut. Captain Bellows, his sword in his hand, gave a signal and a great roar opened up as the pioneers fired their long rifles at the pursuing Indians. Caleb let go of Johnson's horse and vaulted off Pride. He grabbed the Henry and the Sharps, looking frantically for Julie and Tilly through the smoke of the fight. There, some fifty yards away, he saw his sisters crouched under their little wagon.

“Are you all right?” Caleb ran to his sister and dove under his wagon with the two rifles.

“Caleb!” she cried. “I was so afraid. Posey said you went back to help Johnson. We thought you were killed! What happened?”

“There's no time!” yelled Caleb over the din of the gunfire. “Take Tilly and the horses behind the wagons in the center!” Caleb shot a look to the men who were desperately dragging wagons to the middle to protect the women and children.

“Tilly! Come with me!” Julie reached for Tilly's hand and ran to the safety of the wagons. Tumble scrambled out from under the wagon and took off after them.

Caleb fired the Henry rifle as a wave of Sioux Indians rode down from Scotts Bluff, some firing rifles, others arrows. Caleb cursed to himself as he missed the lead rider.
CLICK!
He was out of cartridges and quickly reached into his pocket to reload. Several Sioux warriors rode swiftly toward the wagons, firing their guns at the inexperienced pioneers. Two arrows struck the buckboard near Caleb's head, and he scrambled behind the spokes of the wheel for cover as they raced past. Right behind them were six more warriors riding down on him as he frantically tried to load the Henry.
They
don't fit!
Caleb thought as he tried to jam the bullets from the Sharps into the Henry. Suddenly, a Sioux with his bow drawn back galloped straight for Caleb. Caleb rolled under the wagon to his right and dove for the Sharps. He grabbed a handful of cartridges and slammed one into the chamber. Caleb fired just as the Indian shot his arrow. He missed, but startled the Indian. The arrow slid just past Caleb, nicking his neck, and stuck into the wheel of the wagon. Without thinking, Caleb slipped another shell into the rifle from the webbing of his fingers and fired. The warrior went down hard off his horse. Caleb reloaded, ready to fire again, but the Indian lay still. Caleb stared at the fallen Indian, realizing he may have killed him. He started to feel dizzy from the loss of blood, and he tore off a piece of his shirt to tie it around his wound. His heart jumped at the sound of Bellows's booming voice.

“Caleb!” roared Bellows. “Get that Henry going!” Captain Bellows tossed a bag of cartridges to Caleb as he shouted orders up and down the wagon train, impervious to the arrows and bullets whizzing through the air.

“Yes, sir!” Caleb caught the bag of bullets. He quickly loaded the Henry just as another wave of Indians began to circle the wagons. The big rifle roared in Caleb's nimble, strong hands, and another Sioux warrior went down. Just then, Julie appeared by his side under the wagon. “What are you doing? Go back with Tilly and the others!”

“Not on your life!” shouted Julie as she took out her Colt pistol. She fired on the Sioux warriors. “I'm not leaving you!” Julie set her teeth and fired alongside her brother.

On the Sioux Indians attacked and the pioneers answered with volleys of their own. Through the smoke and the confusion, Captain Bellows was able to maintain their defense and the brave men and women, these dreamers from all lands, fought like they had never fought before.

“I'm out of bullets!” exclaimed Julie.

“Here, take the Sharps,” said Caleb weakly, the blood pouring from his shoulder and head.

Julie reached for the rifle, but there was no further need. The Indians had stopped firing.

“Cease fire!” ordered Captain Bellows. Gradually, the pioneers obeyed and stopped firing. The Sioux had backed away.

Caleb began to shake. His entire body trembled, his bloodied hands desperately holding onto the Henry rifle. He brought the rifle to sight in on the Indians, but his hands would not obey. “I can't hold the Henry,” exclaimed Caleb. Caleb tried to focus on his sister, but his eyes betrayed him. He tried to reach out for Julie, but touched only air. Suddenly, everything went black.

Caleb struggled to breathe, to gain some sense of his wits. All seemed lost in his nightmare of pain. He choked on the dust that kicked up in the blowing wind. Why was he in the wagon? Why were they stopped? He could barely lift his head he was so weak. His breath came ragged. He finally managed to ease himself up a few inches. In the fog of his mind, he could see men in black dusters coming toward him. The Blackstones! Caleb reached for his Sharps and weakly pulled back the hammer to check for a bullet. His movements were like lead, his reactions gone. The men in black were nearly alongside him. Caleb found a bullet in his pocket and chambered the round. His hands shook as he tried to lift his rifle.

“Julie,” he called weakly to his sister. “They're here. Julie, the Blackstones!”

“Easy, Caleb,” said Julie as she leaned toward him and took the Sharps from his hands. “There are no Blackstones.” She reassured Caleb and stroked his sweating brow, cooling it with a wet cloth. “It's all right, they're Mormons. Those men in the black coats are leaders. Their wagons crossed over the river at Fort Laramie. They've been trailing us. They're all headed to Utah and the Mormon Trail. We're just outside Fort Fetterman.”

“Fort Fetterman?” Caleb tried to shake himself alert and grasp where they were. “But, that's well over a hundred miles from…”

“From the attack in Scotts Bluff. I know. You have been in and out for days, and I thought we were going to lose you. You lost a lot of blood.”

“I can't think…it's all a haze. What happened?” Caleb wondered as he tried to piece the events together. Gingerly he touched his bandaged shoulder and winced from the pain. His head was bandaged too, and he ached all over. “The last thing I remember is the Indians stopped shooting.”

“Captain Bellows made a truce with the Sioux and gave them some of the oxen and some horses,” said Julie as she checked Caleb's bandages. “We picked up a troop escort from Fort Laramie after that.”

“What, a truce? Why did they take the oxen?”

“It was payment for what the settlers did to the buffalo. They attacked us because of the buffalo. We lost nearly twenty people, and the Sioux lost many as well.” Julie saw in Caleb's eyes the pain of the battle.

“They let us go,” Caleb wondered aloud. “After all that, it was because of the buffalo. People killed each other because of…I killed because…”

“I see he's up!” Captain Bellows walked up with some of his sentries who fell in step behind him. “Corporal Posey!”

“Yes, Captain Bellows!” snapped Posey.

“Bring me that Henry rifle!” ordered Bellows as he peered hard at Caleb, a whisper of a smile appearing on his weathered lips.

“Got it right here, sir!” Posey and other men gathered around Caleb.

Bellows grabbed the rifle and checked the chamber. “You men think anyone else deserves this rifle more than this brave young soldier here?”

“No, sir!” shouted the former soldiers.

“That is the most accurate statement I've heard this whole expedition! This young soldier deserves a medal for his action in battle, and if I had one, I'd give it to him!” roared Bellows. Then he took the Henry and put it in Caleb's hands.

Caleb felt the heft of the big rifle. “But, this is Ben Johnson's Henry, Captain Bellows.” Then a wave of sadness moved through him as he remembered the trapper's wounds. “Did he make it?”

“No,” said Julie as she tried to comfort Caleb. “He died the same day, Caleb. We tried to stop the bleeding, but he took an arrow in his heart.”

“One of the last things old Ben said was for you to take this Henry rifle of his. He told us what you did for him and he was grateful to make it back with his hair, white as it was. Laughed about that. Wanted you to keep these too, since you got your hat shot off.” Captain Bellows signaled to a sentry who brought over the trapper's telescope and the beaver hat and coat made out of animal skins. “Where you're going, you'll need 'em, though I could very well make a play for you to travel on with us, as you are a young man of some use. We make for Oregon in the morning.”

Caleb ran his hands over the coat his friend had left for him. It was large and made from bear and beaver. Rabbit fur lined the cap and the flaps for the ears, soft to his touch. He would miss his trapper friend. The Henry rifle had saved them both. At least for a short time.

“Captain Bellows,” said Caleb as he sat up in the wagon. “I thank you for letting us travel with you, but we'll make for Virginia City as soon as we can find provisions for the journey up the Bozeman Trail. We have family there.”

“Sorry to see you go. You head to the fort and see Captain Vliet. He's an old friend of mine.” Bellows stuck out his hand to Caleb. “He'll get you outfitted. I'll be there later today.”

“Thanks, Captain.” Caleb shook the man's hand. “We'll do that.”

***

Caleb, too sore to ride Pride, sat in the wagon next to Julie as Dusty trotted down the road toward Fort Fetterman. Tilly sat with Tumble in the back. Fort Fetterman rose in desolation like it may as well have been the last place on earth. Caleb wondered how anyone would choose to live in such a dreary place. The gloomy landscape was bare, not a tree in sight, but in the distance loomed shadows of higher ground, and beyond that, the Big Horn Mountains. Pride was tied to the buckboard, prancing proudly. Part of his black mane had been shorn, stitches added by Julie to close the arrow wound. Julie handled the wagon through the troops who rode or walked among the wagon trains that lined the streets. Outfitter shacks were set up everywhere, piles of goods and furs stacked against sparse wooden structures, all to sell or trade to the pioneers heading farther west on the Oregon Trail or north up the Bozeman. Fort Fetterman was the last outpost along the Platte River, and folks were lined up. Caleb held Johnson's hat and coat, wondering how they would fit, as the garments were much too big for his twelve-year-old body.

“I can fix those,” said Julie with a smile, having read his mind. Caleb returned her smile. Several soldiers walking along the road noticed them drive by. One of them whistled at Julie.

“Hey there, purdy girl,” said the soldier. “You need any help with that wagon? We'll get you suited up proper, won't we, fellas?” The other two soldiers nodded in agreement as they watched Julie with a certain unmistakable admiration.

“No, thank you, sir, I'll do just fine.” Julie winked at Caleb. “But I am sure that whistle was meant for your dog, and I am guessing he will be along shortly, for I cannot imagine you would be so crass as to summon me that way.” This got a rise out of the two soldiers, who whooped and hollered, teasing their friend. The whistling soldier spit out a wad of tobacco, stung from Julie's retort.

“Good one,” Caleb chuckled.

“The fool,” sniffed Julie. “One day he'll learn we women don't appreciate that sort of thing. Man doesn't know who he's dealing with.”

“That's for sure.” Still, he remembered just some months ago when he thought of his sister as just a girl, himself just a boy. But all that they had been through was changing that. As they drove down the road to the fort, they noted many Indians. They were trading with the settlers and travelers. Some were mounted on horses as they ascended the hill that led to the entrance of the fort. Caleb figured they were scouts for the army, as some were dressed in old Union Civil War jackets. Goods and supplies were being loaded onto war wagons. Cannons were lined up as if the troops were outfitting for a great campaign. Caleb wondered what battle they were preparing for. “Over there,” said Caleb as he spotted the command office. Two soldiers walked over to the wagon as they pulled up.

“You Caleb O'Toole?” asked one of the soldiers. He was a handsome young man of about eighteen. He smiled some white teeth at Julie.

“Yes, sir,” said Caleb as he eased himself off the wagon.

“Captain Vliet says to outfit you for the Bozeman Trail. I'll load you up while you go inside.” The soldier pointed to the commander's office. “Go on in, he wants to meet you. What kind of cartridges you need? I see you got a Henry.”

“Forty-fives for the Henry. I can take fifties in the Sharps,” said Caleb.

“How about that Colt, ma'am?” The soldier eyed the handle of Julie's pistol sticking out of her pocket. “Pretty hefty gun there.”

“It's a forty-five, sir,” said Julie, smiling at the handsome young man. “I can handle it.”

“Coming up,” said the soldier admiringly to Julie. Then he nodded to Caleb. “Might want to convert the Sharps to forty-fives so everything shoots the same bullet. Easier that way. Pull up over there and I'll load you.” He pointed to a wagon stocked with goods on the far end of the fort.

“Go on,” said Julie to Caleb. “I'll stay here with Tilly.” She drove the wagon across the fort to the stack of supplies.

***

Caleb stepped onto the wooden porch of the command office and peered through the window. Inside he could see the man who must have been Captain Vliet sitting at his desk. As Caleb turned toward the door, he heard Captain Bellows's booming voice.

“Henderson! William Henderson? Same one they jailed at Leavenworth?”

Caleb pulled back his hand just as he started to knock on the door. He ducked out of sight quickly, listening quietly, watching to see if anyone noticed him.

“That's the man,” said Captain Vliet, who shuffled some papers on his desk. “Just dug out these wires I had filed away from weeks ago. Thought the names sounded familiar, these O'Tooles. Says here Henderson killed some folks in Great Bend and Dobytown, then stuck the Sheriff down in Cottonwood Springs in his own jail. Maybe he lost his mind after Leavenworth.”

“Got to tell you, I did get a feeling about that big black horse Caleb is riding. Got N.V., Nebraska Volunteers, burned in the saddle. Must be Henderson's horse. Could be he got killed, that's why the boy's got him. But Henderson losing his mind don't make sense to me. I rode with the man years ago. Best fighter I ever saw. Heard he went after those who killed his family, caught up with a few. But the man's mind was as strong as they come. Must be some mistake,” said Captain Bellows.

“Well, says these O'Toole children are riding with him. I got a handful of telegraphs from that Dobytown Sheriff, uh, Blackstone I think, saying to wire them if they show up around here. Supposed to be heading Montana way.” Captain Vliet waved the papers in his hand. “You say this Caleb O'Toole is headed for Virginia City?”

“That's my understanding. Apparently, they have family there. My man Johnson said they buried the mother and father in Great Bend.”

“Don't make sense they'd be riding with Henderson,” mused Vliet. “And, Lord, Virginia City of all places. There's a lot of Sioux between here and there, not to mention they got problems with the Nez Perce up that way near Bannack. I tried to hold back a train of six wagons just last week. Folks from somewhere back east heading up for the gold, the fools. That's wild country up that way.”

“I hear Colonel Gibbons rode up with his men to deal with the Nez Perce,” said Bellows.

“That's right. Sioux must have burned down some wires so we haven't heard anything from up that way. Anyway, I maybe oughta keep those O'Tooles here in the fort until I hear back from Sheriff Blackstone of Dobytown. Might be a few days until the wires are up. I got patrols coming through here to fix it all. Don't have the manpower to escort anybody north. Tarnation, half my men want out of here. But, we'll outfit 'em, see they're supplied. If everything checks out, maybe they can hook up with another wagon train heading north.”

“Appreciate it. Boy did a lot for us. I expect he'll be coming around any minute,” said Bellows. “Meantime, Captain, please tell me you have some of that famous whiskey of yours.”

“Captain Bellows, you old warhorse, got just the thing,” chuckled Vliet as he pulled a bottle of whiskey from his desk.

***

Caleb walked swiftly to the wagon. There was no way they could stay at Fort Fetterman. There was no telling how close the Blackstones were, or even if they were still pursuing them. Caleb figured they would likely go after Henderson, but he couldn't afford to take that chance. They had to leave now. The soldiers had gone off somewhere and there was no one to stop them.

“Let's go. Hurry.” Caleb went quickly to untie Pride.

“Caleb, they haven't finished loading us yet,” said Julie. “We've got the ammunition, but we still need food and grain.”

“If we don't leave now, we're stuck here for days.” Caleb struggled to saddle Pride. His shoulder was killing him, but he shrugged off the pain. “They're tracking us through the telegraph wires.”

“Who's tracking us? The Blackstones?”

“Yes. I heard that Captain talking about what happened in the Dobytown saloon. We have to go right now. Where's Tilly?” Caleb looked around for his little sister. She and Tumble were nowhere to be found.