The Last Ride of Caleb O'Toole (14 page)

“She's with that soldier. She has him promising to give her sweets,” said Julie.

“We've got to get out of here before Captain Vliet sees us. Once he does, he won't let us leave.”

“I'll get her. You see if you can find any food. Those soldiers were unloading that wagon over there next to the stables. Sacks of grain, I think. Be right back.” Julie ran off around the barracks.

Caleb waited until the two troopers disappeared into the stable with the horses. He trotted over to the barn door and peered inside. The men looked occupied with the horses. Caleb went over to the wagon, and with his good arm, pulled himself aboard. Taking a look to make sure no one was watching, he began rummaging through the supplies. He found hardtack, beans, grain, and salted bacon.
Well
, he thought,
they said they were going to outfit us. Might as well give them a hand.
He picked up a case of beans in one hand and gingerly grabbed some hardtack with his wounded arm, then ran back to the wagon. After he added some bacon and some grain, Julie came running around from the side of the barracks with Tilly and Tumble. Just then, a large platoon of soldiers rode into the fort.

“That was quick,” said Caleb as he mounted Pride.

“That was a nice young man, that soldier,” offered Julie with a smile.

“Look!” Tilly held up a handful of licorice as she climbed aboard the wagon. “He gave this to me!”

“You would be surprised what a smile can do, Caleb,” winked Julie. “Must be some awfully lonely soldiers in this fort. Let's go.” She gave the reins a shake and Dusty tugged the wagon around in a circle and headed toward the fort's entrance.

“Slow.” Caleb urged Pride forward and nodded to the soldiers on horseback. “Captain Bellows and that commander are still sharing a drink. Let's not attract attention.”

Caleb rode Pride out of Fort Fetterman and headed north on the main road. Fur traders, their skins piled high on mules, trotted past them. Julie drove right behind Caleb as they passed shabby wooden shacks. The Mormon wagon train was just ahead, the leaders standing guard like military men while the travelers bought and traded goods for their journey west. They kept apart from other pioneers, preferring not to engage. Caleb noticed a woman bending over one of the men, dabbing a great wound as she sewed a gash in his head.

“Caleb!” cried Julie. Caleb turned Pride around and rode to the wagon. “Wait!”

“What's wrong?”

“I need some more thread. I used the last of it stitching Pride up.” Julie pulled Dusty to stop and grabbed her medical bag. “I'll just be a second.”

Caleb had yet to see his own wound; he had been so intent on getting his supplies and then leaving the fort. Carefully, he peeled back his shirt. His raw, red shoulder had been neatly sewn. He ran his fingers along the stitches as he gazed in wonder at his sister. She and his mother were known for their sewing, and it was apparent in her ability to take care of his shoulder. Pride's wound had the same pattern of thread. He watched as Julie began an animated conversation with the Mormon prairie doctor. She opened her medical bag and displayed several instruments. Caleb shook his head in wonder as Julie made her trade, then offered her hand in gratitude.

“All right, we can go now. I have thread, more needles, disinfectant, and even chloroform, though I hope we don't need that, since I don't know how to do it. Might come in handy, though.” Julie jumped aboard the wagon. “All it cost me was a tooth puller and a surgical knife, oh, and the bacon.”

“But we need the bacon,” protested Caleb. He figured they had at least weeks of travel over another four hundred miles.

“Well, we have the beans, which should last for a while.” Julie reached for the bacon in the back of the wagon. “Besides, I have faith in you. From what they say, there's more game farther north. The way you shoot, we should be fine.”

Caleb fired and the deer dropped in its tracks a hundred yards away. Caleb put the Sharps back in its scabbard and eased Pride over to the fallen deer. The Henry rifle he left behind with Julie for protection while he hunted. Julie was right. He had done well. They'd had no problem finding game, for deer and antelope were plentiful. Caleb settled into hunting like a natural, having learned from Ben Johnson about wind and distance. A sharpshooter during the war and a trapper, Johnson had been a man who knew his business, and Caleb had been a good student. Now Caleb wore the trapper's animal skins and hat. Julie, true to her word, had cut and sewn them to fit Caleb. He blended into the land like he was born to it. And the land of Wyoming Territory was changing as they traveled along the Bozeman Trail. The mountains of the Big Horn loomed in the distance. Great splashes of red rock and pine trees replaced the monotonous prairie and the region was taking on a more majestic beauty. Canyons cut by rivers provided them shelter as well as good fishing. Tilly even managed to pull in a big trout using a hand line that Julie had made her, gleefully dancing at the water's edge in celebration.

It
must
be
the
middle
of
August
, Caleb thought as he sweated over the task of cleaning the deer. Jumping Dog's knife was razor-sharp, and he had no trouble with cutting away the tough hide. The days of their journey on the Bozeman Trail had been uneventful, and they were making good time, except for a day wasted on having to fix the wagon wheel. There had been trappers and friendly Indians, but so far the hundred miles up Bloody Bozeman had been pretty tame. In their effort to catch the small wagon train he had learned about from overhearing Captain Vliet, Caleb had forced them to make close to twenty miles a day. There had been no sign of the wagon train, but Caleb could tell from the droppings of the animals that they were closing the gap. They hit the trail north hard in the effort to put as much distance as they could between them and Fort Fetterman, and any farther delay would have brought the Blackstones that much closer. Visions of the murderous brothers appeared in Caleb's sleep and he could not shake the feeling that somewhere he and his sisters were being tracked, dogged. So far, they had been lucky. He wondered if their luck would hold as he bent down to the deer and hoisted a hind leg onto the back of Pride. He felt bad about leaving the rest of the deer, but he had no way of keeping it fresh enough to eat. The coyotes or wolves would make short work of the remains, he figured. Or the buzzards that circled in the sky. He watched the large birds arcing lazily, waiting for their turn to eat. That's when he noticed the smoke.

Caleb rode Pride fast through the canyon and splashed across the river. He wasn't worried about Julie and Tilly, for they were a mile or so back on the trail. He held on to the deer as he charged up the hill and pulled Pride up behind the rocks. Then he took his telescope out and searched the horizon. The smoke rose above a cluster of trees about half a mile ahead and some distance off the trail. He urged Pride closer to get a better look. As he entered the tree line, he stopped and raised his telescope. There! Over by a ravine to the right of the trail, he could make out several burning wagons. Whatever had happened, he figured he needed to get back to his sisters, for whoever was out there may have heard him shoot the deer.

“Let's go, Pride!” Caleb tossed the deer to the ground, turned Pride around and galloped back on the trail to Julie and Tilly. He would hunt another day. Making sure his sisters were safe was his main concern. He headed toward the rocks where they agreed they would meet after the hunt. In a few minutes' time, he spotted Julie racing toward him in the wagon.
She must have seen the smoke as well
, he thought as he rode up to his sister.

***

“See anything?” asked Julie as she peered out from the trees where they lay hidden.

“It looks bad,” Caleb said, looking through his telescope. “It must be the wagon train we've been looking for. Six wagons all burned. I see bodies with arrows sticking in them lying on the ground. No one's moving. Must have been the Sioux.”

“Should we try to help? Someone might still be alive.”

“Maybe. I don't see any Indians. They took the horses, so I guess they're all gone. But keep Tilly away. She shouldn't see this.” Caleb brought Pride around and took out his Henry rifle. Julie pulled out her Colt as she climbed aboard the wagon.

As they approached the burning wagon train, Julie stopped Dusty fifty feet away from the closest wagon. “Tilly, you stay here with Tumble and hide way down low so I can't see you, OK?” Tilly nodded and grabbed Tumble and hid under a blanket. Caleb dismounted, and together they walked toward the smoking ruins.

It was a massacre. No one had survived. Ten men, five women, and several children were all strewn about, arrows sticking from their bodies. Two horses lay dead. It must have happened that morning, for birds had gotten to some of the corpses and flies buzzed all around them. “Caleb!” cried Julie as she stared down at a woman who lay dead. “It's that same woman from before, the one who wouldn't help Tilly.”

“Bess.” Caleb looked at the badly burned corpse of the pioneer woman. So this had been their fate. All their dreams destroyed in a murderous attack by the Sioux. They had journeyed all this way, only to the violent end of their lives instead of the gold they were seeking. “That's the wagon master,” said Caleb as he walked over to the body. He turned white as he looked at the mutilated corpse. His chest had been slashed open.

“They took his heart, Caleb.” Julie turned away from the body, and together they looked around at the bloody scene of the massacre.

“Look!” Caleb pointed to a trail of blood that led away from the camp. “One of them might have escaped.” The blood led to a ravine some fifty yards away. It was possible someone survived and lay hidden in the rocks. “Keep watch here with the Henry rifle. I'll see if they're still alive.”

“Be careful, Caleb.”

Caleb followed the blood trail through the rocks and into the ravine. It looked as though the wounded victim was dragging himself forward. As he lowered himself toward the small creek below, he saw boots sticking out from behind a boulder. In the creek below, an Indian pony stood along the water, drinking. Carefully, he advanced on the body, clutching his Sharps, looking from side to side for any movement, any sign of a Sioux warrior. The man was dead, several arrows sticking out of his back and leg.
There
is
nothing
I
can
do
for
the
man
, Caleb thought as he turned back toward the wagons. Suddenly an Indian leaped from the rocks above, emitting a violent war cry.

Caleb turned with his Sharps and tried to fire, but the warrior was too quick and landed on him. Together they went crashing down the rocky slope, rolling over and over, locked together in a fierce struggle. Desperately, Caleb tried to shake the Indian off and bring his rifle to bear, but the warrior had him by the throat and wrapped his legs around Caleb, trying to choke him. Caleb threw his elbow back and connected with the Indian's jaw with a solid crack. The Sioux warrior was young and fast, and he fought like a wildcat. Caleb could see that the Indian was bleeding a little from his side. The warrior had no weapon of his own, but he picked up a rock as they tumbled to the ground toward the water and smashed it against Caleb's head. Caleb fought off the blinding light of pain as he held on desperately to his Sharps, but the Indian had the upper hand and pried it away from Caleb. Caleb lunged at the Indian before the warrior could turn the rifle on him, and reached frantically for the trigger. Just as the Indian swung the barrel toward him, Caleb brushed the rifle aside, found the trigger, and pulled.
BOOM!
The Sharps exploded, but the bullet went wide of Caleb. The Indian pulled back the hammer and tried to fire again, but Caleb knew the Sharps was a single-shot rifle and the trigger clicked empty.

The Sioux warrior, seeing that he could not fire, swung the Sharps at Caleb's head, using it as a club. Caleb ducked, and in an instant, pulled out his knife and buried it in the Indian's side. Together they tumbled farther down the hill into the shallow water of the stream. A great breath escaped from the Indian's lips as Caleb held the knife into the warrior's side. Still the struggle continued, and they fought hard for their lives. Finally, the Indian weakened and he lost his grip on Caleb. As the young warrior stopped his struggles, Caleb raised the knife over his head, poised to deliver the final cut. Suddenly, his foe began to chant, as if knowing he was going to die. Caleb brought the knife to the Indian's throat and held it there. He could easily kill him, but something stopped his hand. The Sioux was just a boy, like him. A warrior boy, like Caleb.

***

“It's really bad, Caleb,” said Julie as she examined the knife wound on the Indian. “It's a wonder he's still alive.” Julie studied another wound near the boy's ribs. “It looks like he was shot here too, but it's only a crease.”

“What should we do?” asked Caleb. “I guess we could just leave him. Maybe his people will find him. We had better be long gone if they come back looking for him.”

Together they looked at the Sioux boy tied up in their wagon. They had carried him from the ravine and ridden to shelter for the night some distance up the creek from the burned-out wagon train. The boy's pony was tied behind. Tilly and Tumble lay near the fire on blankets, finishing the last of the beans. The sun glowed red as it set in the west.

“If we leave him, he'll surely die. Boil some water.”

“What are you going to do?

“Try to stop the bleeding. I saw Dr. Sullivan do it on Henderson. She sewed him from the inside out.”

“But she's a real doctor,” protested Caleb. Then he touched his shoulder and the stitches she had done on him. “I'll cut some branches. Be right back.”

Together Caleb and Julie prepared to help save the young Sioux. Barely conscious, he did not struggle as they shifted him in the wagon. Julie cleaned his gaping knife wound and took out one of the instruments in her bag. As she increased the pressure and tried to pry the wound apart, the boy began to writhe in pain. Even tied up, he moved too much for her to continue her work. Unless he lay still, it would be impossible to help him.

“Hand me that bottle of chloroform.” Julie tore off a piece of cloth from her shirt. “Soak this in it.”

“Like this?” asked Caleb after he shook the smelly fluid onto the cloth.

“The book says to put it over his nose and mouth.” Julie held the burning stick over the little medical book. “Go ahead, Caleb.”

Caleb reached over to the Indian's face and stuck the cloth over his nose and mouth. Instantly the boy began to choke and struggle. “Hold him!” Julie grabbed the Indian's legs and held them down, half sitting on the boy. Caleb held the cloth on hard and soon the boy relaxed, passing out from the anesthetic.

“Well, that worked out pretty well,” said Julie. “Hold the torch over him so I can see.” Julie used the instrument to spread the knife wound. She carefully washed the wound with the clean pieces of cloth they had boiled. “See these in here?” Caleb saw the blood seeping deep within the wound. “These are veins. I watched Dr. Sullivan sew them up before she stitched the outside. Hand me the needle and thread.”

Caleb watched in wonder as his sister, by instinct rather than knowledge, performed the kind of surgery doctors did in battle. Whether it would work or not remained to be seen, but it was the Indian's only chance. It seemed to take hours as Julie patiently sewed up the boy. Once, Caleb had to give the Indian more of the anesthetic, but there was little struggle left in him. At first Caleb was queasy from the sight of all the blood and tissue, the damage he himself had inflicted while fighting for his life. After a while, he was used to it. Julie was not the least bit affected by the gore. To Caleb, she seemed as at home doing this as she was making a quilt. Finally, she was done. They let the Indian rest while they cleaned up the instruments.

“Now we'll wait and see.” Julie stretched and headed over to Tilly and the blankets by the fire. Her shirt was a tattered, bloody mess and she had torn off more pieces of cloth. “If he's not dead by morning, he has a chance. Good night, Caleb.” She slipped off the bloody shirt, buried herself in the blanket, and pulled sleepy Tilly next to her. “You might give him some water every now and then.”

“All right. Good night.” Caleb reached for the Henry rifle. “I'll take the first watch.”

“Thank you, Caleb,” said Julie as she closed her eyes. “Wake me in a few hours.”

Caleb checked the boy one more time.
Well, he is breathing
, he thought.
We'll see what the morning brings
. Then he sat by the fire and listened to the night sounds, for wolves, mountain lions, coyotes, bears, Indians, anything that seemed unusual and dangerous.
Nothing
, he thought as he relaxed his hand on the Henry's trigger,
just
the
crickets
.