The Last Ride of Caleb O'Toole (20 page)

“Yes, sir.”

“You say you saw the Blackstone brothers actually murder the Thatchers along with Jim Jackson and that Irishman in Dobytown? And Henderson killed one of the brothers trying to defend you. That the way it went?”

“That's right,” said Caleb.

Porter rubbed his square jaw while he looked over the letter. “My gut says you're telling the truth. I know Sheriff Winstead of Great Bend. I'll telegraph him the information in a couple of days when we get the wires back up and working. Now, this Sheriff Blackstone and his brothers. My guess is you may not have seen the last of these boys. Sure you want to head out to the Bitterroot? Not much law out there, son.”

“That ranch is all we have, sir. There's nowhere else to go.”

“We'll be fine, Sheriff,” said Julie. “We can handle things.”

“No doubt you can,” chuckled Sheriff Porter. “Caleb, Mathew told me about those vigilantes and what you did for him, cutting him down like you did. You're a good man. That means a lot in these parts.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.” Caleb shook the big Sheriff's hand and grabbed his Henry, which rested against the wall behind him. Julie and Tilly had finished their sandwiches, and they all headed toward the door.

“I get out that way from time to time. I'll check on you,” said Sheriff Porter. “Good luck with the ranch. You'll need it.”

W
e
are
going
to
need
a
lot
more
than
luck
, Caleb thought as they stared at the tiny broken-down ranch, sagging behind a rail fence that had fallen in disrepair. A rusty sign that swayed in the early autumn breeze creaked a sad and lonely melody and simply stated O'TOOLE. Caleb and his sisters had hoped against hope as they traveled over the past six days that their lives would begin anew, that they could plant their roots underneath the sharp painted mountains called the Bitterroot. They rode past the hills and river of the famous Battle of Big Hole and felt the sadness of the death that came to the Nez Perce Indians that day. They drove on through the pass between the mountains that led to the Bitterroot Valley and followed the river north, exhausted but nevertheless excited that their perilous journey was soon coming to an end. Smitty's Trading Post rested at the West Fork River some miles up the Bitterroot River, the last marker of civilization on their way up to the ranch. It had taken more than three months and over thirteen hundred miles to get from Great Bend to where they now stood alone to face their future. Golden colors mixed with red splashed from the granite rock cliff that towered above them. Deer, elk, and moose appeared in the dry grass and purple fields of fireweed that rested under the thick pine mountains. Their wooden shack of a house stood at the base of a pine-dotted hill next to a sagging barn. An old washtub and a privy rested on the other side. The only sound was the wind through the pines.

“Well,” said Julie. “We may as well go inside.”

“This going to be our home?” Tilly gazed at the run-down ranch, crestfallen.

“Yes, Tilly.” Julie let out a deep sigh. “It is.”

The door creaked on loose hinges as they stepped inside the little house. Spiderwebs and dust covered the kitchen. Filthy drapes fell across the broken windows over the old sink. There was a wood-burning stove in the corner, a fireplace, and a small table with four chairs. Some pots and pans lay stacked on the kitchen counter as if their Aunt Sarah simply abandoned her life one day. They entered through a door to the only other room. A half-made bed rested sadly against the wall. Rats, startled out of their home, scattered past them, fleeing for their lives.

“Well, let's get started,” said Julie with resolve. “Caleb, why don't you check out the barn? Tilly and I will get to work on the house. There's no sense in crying. We're here now, and we'll make the best of it. Tilly, there's a broom in the kitchen. You go get it and start sweeping. We'll get things in shape before you can say once upon a time!”

“Once upon a time!” exclaimed Tilly as she ran into the kitchen.

Caleb brought Pride and Dusty to the pasture by the barn and let them graze on the dry grass. He grabbed the handle of the pump nearby and worked the lever. After some time, fresh water came out and he took a long drink. Just the other side of the barn, a fair-sized creek gurgled along the side of the house and down the length of the valley.
Good
, he thought,
Dusty
and
Pride
could
have
their
fill
there
. He unloaded the wagon of its furs and supplies and did an inventory. The barn was a disaster, but in it were some tools they could use. They would need lumber and paint, as well as some new glass for the windows of the house. He could see light through the roof of the small barn, and he made a mental note that it needed to be patched. He figured the main house probably leaked as well. He gathered some wood that lay chopped by the barn and hauled it to the house for Julie.
We
need
a
fire
, Caleb thought, but before that, there was something he needed to do.

***

Caleb and his sisters sat on the granite rocks of the mountain ledge that rose above the ranch. Pine trees and wildflowers surrounded them as if the mountain offered up a sanctuary, a gateway that led farther into the mysteries of the painted hills. Two small wooden crosses that Caleb had made rested upright in the earth nearby. For the first time, Caleb quietly let the tears flow. Julie gently wiped his eyes and kissed him on the forehead, just like his mother used to do. His heart ached for both his parents, and the pain of their deaths filled his soul. Tilly nestled onto his lap, and the three of them held each other and watched the clouds roll in over their desolate little home a few hundred yards below. They looked at the photo of their parents in the locket.

“It's like they're here and looking down on us,” said Julie softly.

“We can come up here to this place and talk to them?” asked Tilly.

“That's right, you can.” Caleb choked back his tears and gathered himself. “But not alone. You might stumble on a bear or a wolf.”

Tilly pulled the locket back over her head and began to pick some flowers. “Mommy liked flowers,” she said as she laid them against the crosses.

“Yes, Tilly, let's pick lots of flowers!” said Julie, springing into action.

“Tomorrow I'll head over to that trading post with the wagon and see if I can pick up anything we might need around here.” Caleb took a deep breath as he looked across their valley.

“Good idea, Caleb.” Julie placed some flowers near their father's cross. “I'll go get supper ready.”

***

“Folks just call me Smitty,” said the older, wiry black man with a wooden leg as he carried some sacks of grain and stacked them on the porch of Smitty's Trading Post. “I been here near since the war. That's where I lost this daggone leg.”

“Can I lend you a hand?” Caleb jumped off the wagon to help.

“Why not? Have to say, those are some nice skins you got. You been trappin'?”

“Some are from the game I shot near Yellowstone.” Caleb grabbed a sack of grain and threw it on the pile. “The others I got from Touch the Clouds's people. That red mark of a buffalo on my wagon is from Sitting Bull.”

“Well, I'll be. From Sitting Bull? Ain't that somethin'. That figures to be quite a story. What are you doin' up in these parts?”

“You know the O'Toole ranch up the West Fork?” asked Caleb as he stacked another sack of grain. “My sisters and I are taking it over from our Aunt Sarah. I'm Caleb O'Toole. It's a long story.”

“I know the place. Pretty run-down,” said Smitty as he stretched his aching back.

“There are things we need for winter. You wouldn't care to trade for some of these furs, would you?”

“Well, no. I got plenty of skins. But I tell you what. That Henry rifle there in the wagon. Now that is one fine thing. You let me have that and I'll go a long way in setting you folks up.”

Caleb took the rifle from the wagon. It would be hard to give up Ben Johnson's gift. It had saved Caleb and his sisters many times. Even more, it was a piece of a man who was good to him and had respected him. But he needed what Smitty could offer. It was time to let it go.

“All right,” said Caleb as he handed it to Smitty.

“I thank you for it.” Smitty took the Henry and placed it against the wall next to his chair. Then he sat and took out a corncob pipe. “Now, Caleb. Pull up a chair. I want to hear that story.”

“It's a long one.” Caleb grabbed a stool and sat next to Smitty.

“Like I said,” he said as he lit his pipe. “I got nothin' but time.”

Caleb and Smitty traded stories that afternoon until nearly sundown. He helped him load supplies for other men who had stopped by the trading post. He liked the Civil War veteran, a man who had escaped slavery in Alabama to fight for the North against the South. A man who had laid down his life to be free and had lost his leg to a Confederate cannonball in Gettysburg. He had come years ago to find his fortune in gold like so many others. It was a life too hard for a one-legged man, but he found a way to survive with his little trading post. And he found a place to be free. And Caleb had found a new friend.

Smitty set up Caleb well, sending him back to the ranch with the wagon stocked with the food and supplies they would need for the winter. Come spring, they could do some planting. They had seeds for vegetables and fruit, and some day Caleb figured to add some cattle. All through October, Julie and Tilly scrubbed and cleaned and worked hard to get the house into shape. The two girls slept together in the little bedroom under the furs of the Sioux. Julie refused to be knocked off course and seemed to have a passion for fixing up their new home. She took to drying meat for the winter, just like their Sioux friends did. She studied the medical book Dr. Sullivan gave her nightly under candlelight, absorbing every word. Caleb made repairs on the ranch. He slept peacefully in the barn while it was still warm enough under furry animal skins on top of a pile of hay. From time to time, he would make his way to Smitty's to help him out, then up the road to the town of Darby if Smitty needed something. It was a fair deal. Smitty would pay him with more supplies for the ranch. Then they would spend an hour or so swapping stories, Smitty about the War and Caleb about the Oregon Trail, the Hole in the Wall outlaws, and the Indian friends he had met along the way.

***

Caleb led Pride to the edge of the Bitterroot River, letting him drink his fill. He had just spent the day poking around Darby, a few miles up the road. It was a nice mountain village, peaceful and quiet. Just the other side of the river, an elk stood grazing in the yellow grass on the forest edge. He took his Sharps rifle and sighted in on the elk, when the sound of a gunshot echoed softly in the distance. “Sounds like ol' Smitty got himself a buck, Pride. Let's see what's up,” he mused as he spared the elk and put the Sharps back in the scabbard. It was almost routine now. If either Smitty or Caleb got a deer, they would both often clean it, skin it together, and divide up their food. It was more of an excuse to share stories. He laughed in anticipation at what his friend would come up with today. Sometimes it was hard to tell if it was a true story, for the man loved to spin a yarn or two.

Caleb pulled Pride up to the railing in front of Smitty's Trading Post. There seemed to be no one around. No horses were in sight, no sign of anyone or anything. He called out for Smitty, but did not get his friend's usual good-natured hello in return. He grabbed his Sharps and jumped off Pride and headed through the open doorway. It was dark inside. He heard a faint groan coming from the back of the store. He raised his Sharps and stepped around the counter. He found Smitty leaning up against the wall, blood pouring from a gunshot wound in his left shoulder.

“Smitty! What happened?”

“Get home, Caleb,” groaned Smitty as he reached out with his right hand and pulled Caleb to him.

“Who shot you?” Caleb held on to his friend.

“There's four of 'em. Looking for you,” gasped Smitty. “They're headin' up the Fork.”

The blood suddenly ran cold in Caleb's veins. “What did they look like?”

“Black dusters. One of 'em had a sheriff badge. Another one was missing part of his ear.” Smitty struggled to get the words out. “I wouldn't tell them where you lived, so one with black teeth just shot me like I was nothin'.”

“The Blackstones!” Caleb's worst nightmare had come to the Bitterroot. Quickly, he ripped up a cloth and pressed it against Smitty's bleeding shoulder and placed his friend's hand over it.

“Go on, Caleb! I been shot worse than this. Get home!”

“I'll be back for you, Smitty!” Caleb said as he rushed to the door.

“Caleb!” called Smitty as he pointed to the rifle in the corner. “Take the Henry!”

***

“Come on, Pride!” cried Caleb as they thundered along the West Fork River. His heart was in his throat. He pushed the fear of what was to come out of his mind; his only thought was to get to his sisters. He had hoped against hope the murderous brothers had lost the trail or had given up over the weeks and gone off to do some other mayhem. Or maybe even met their fates at the hands of Henderson. Sheriff Porter had been right. Caleb had not seen the last of them. Pride ripped over the ground as if he knew himself that this would be his biggest battle, the race of his life. Every ounce of the warhorse's soul and every fiber of his muscle surged and pounded beneath Caleb as they crashed through branches of pine trees and leaped over rocks and fallen logs. In no time, the Blackstones would find the ranch. Caleb shuddered to think what they might do to his sisters. If he could just get to them first, maybe together they would stand a chance. Caleb crouched low and gripped hard with his knees as Pride ate up the ground beneath them. Two gunshots rang out! It was Julie's signal. The Blackstones had found the ranch!

“Pride, it's up to you, boy! Give me everything you've got!” Pride bounded ahead with a burst of awesome power that came from deep within his big heart. Caleb, the reins in one hand and the Henry in the other, rode still and light as the mighty warhorse carried him into battle. More gunshots! As they crested the hill that led to the ranch, Caleb could see the Blackstones on horseback circling the little house. Tumble raced around in front, barking and snapping at the horses' hooves. Tilly broke from the door and tried to get to Tumble, but Julie grabbed her and yanked her back inside. He could imagine the Blackstones laughing as the brave little dog tried to defend his house, snapping at the legs of the horses. One of the brothers drew a bead on Tumble. With a yelp, Tumble rolled over in the dirt, shot. He tried to get up, but collapsed and lay still.