The Last Ride of Caleb O'Toole (22 page)

“The Sheriff and the boy head down the hill. When they get far enough away, I'll let the girl go and we do this,” snarled Blacktooth, his ugly black grin widening. Blood from Caleb's gunshot poured down his leg and he was running out of time. “I beat you in Dobytown, and I'll beat you here.”

“You sure about this, Henderson?” Sheriff Porter was itching to get a shot at Blacktooth.

“You heard him, Sheriff.” Henderson held his pistol steady on the outlaw.

It took everything Caleb had to leave his little sister in the clutches of the killer. But he knew Henderson was right. They had to get Tilly away from Blacktooth. Caleb, his Sharps held in front of him, backed toward the ledge and eased down the hill. Porter climbed down from the other side, ready to make a move with his pistol if he had to.

When Caleb and Sheriff Porter got halfway to the bottom, they waited for Tilly as she ran down the hill. Caleb opened his arms, and his terrified little sister flew into them. He felt her heart beating like a hummingbird. He wrapped his arms around her as she buried her face in his chest. Sheriff Porter gripped his Colt, ready to advance on Blacktooth should the murdering thief get the best of Henderson. Caleb checked his Sharps rifle. Carefully, he sighted on the ledge above.

It seemed an eternity. Finally Henderson appeared, standing tall and still in the sunlight. He slowly eased his Colt over to the left side and stuck it in his belt. His gun-hand! Then the murdering Blacktooth stepped forward from the shadows of the pines. They faced each other, waiting to see who would make the first move. It was their fate, their destiny. They drew out the time as if each knew it might be the last thing he ever did on this earth. It was deadly calm against blinding rage. The Civil War hero, his life torn apart by the evil done to him and his family, stared down the lightning-fast outlaw who burned with greed and destruction. Caleb held his breath. Quick as a snake, Blacktooth made a move for his gun. In a blur, Henderson's Colt appeared, smoking in his hand. Henderson fired two shots into Blacktooth before he could get off one. Blacktooth staggered, then stood still for several seconds as the life poured out of his black heart. The outlaw fired helplessly into the ground, and then he dropped his Colt. He took one step toward Henderson and tried to raise his arms before he slumped to his knees. Finally, Blacktooth collapsed to the ground, dead.

Caleb tore across the field on Pride, his Henry rifle in his hand. Henderson had made sure he got it back. For two weeks, Julie had nursed Smitty to health. She even tried to use the last of the chloroform on him so she could dig the bullet out of his shoulder. Smitty refused. So she used it on Tumble and took the forty-five slug from the hind end of the most stubborn dog in the West. Only a cat could have more lives than mighty Tumble. Smitty and Henderson got good and drunk while Julie dug around for Blacktooth's bullet, trading war stories into the night. They traded other things too, including Henderson's Medal of Honor, which Henderson said Smitty deserved more than he did. Smitty's eyes glistened with tears of wonder and gratitude as he clutched the medal to his heart. They gave a toast to Abraham Lincoln, and then Smitty gestured toward the Henry rifle. And lo and behold, by the time Sheriff Porter and Caleb had returned from taking the Blackstones to be buried in Darby, Caleb had his Henry back.

Caleb gave Pride a squeeze with his knees, and the great warhorse thundered ahead through the gentle snow that began to cover the valley beneath the rugged mountains of the Bitterroot. Another squeeze and Pride flattened out his head and his tail and they raced, smooth as glass, toward the house. Caleb let go of the reins, sighting in on his target. He took a deep breath as Pride pounded beneath him. Time seemed to stand still. He gently squeezed the trigger and fired. Dead center! The can of beans sitting on a log in the field exploded and the beans went everywhere.

“I told you!” squealed Tilly, a bandaged Tumble barking at her feet.

“Well, I'll be,” mused Smitty, his arm trussed up in a sling. “That's some shootin'!”

“Daggone straight,” said Henderson, walking over to the fence as Caleb rode up with Pride. His reddish-brown mustang was loaded up and ready to ride. “That's great riding, boy. It's like you're a part of him. I know you two have been through a lot.” Henderson stuck out his hand and Pride walked over to him. Gently, Henderson stroked the big horse's head and ran his hand down its flank. Pride's coat shivered and shook. His panting eased as Henderson whispered to him. The love of the man for his horse and the devotion of the horse for his master could not be denied.

“You sure were right about Pride.” Caleb slid easily from the saddle. “He got me out of a lot of scrapes.”

“Yeah, I heard about a couple of those,” chuckled Henderson. “Took a while for my leg to heal. I started tracking those Blackstones all the way to Bannack. I figured they'd go after you. Stories about you and Captain Bellows's wagon train and Scotts Bluff were all over Fort Fetterman. Then some old Sioux friends I met up with had a few things to say. They talked about this kid on a fast black horse who could shoot the eye out of a hawk like you were a legend or something. After what happened here, I believe it. Logan Porter thinks pretty highly of you. We shared a drink at Skinner's Saloon. You learn good, kid.”

“I had some good teachers. This is a real nice horse you have now.” Caleb stroked Henderson's mustang.

“She's beautiful,” admired Julie as she and Smitty walked over and stood beside Caleb. “What's her name?”

“I call her Glory. Darn near as fast as Pride. Blue Hawk's best. In a couple of years, she's going to make a great horse. She's only two now.” Henderson checked the saddlebags and his packs.

“I'm almost seven!” exclaimed Tilly.

“That a fact?” smiled Henderson as he picked up Tilly and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Trade you for her,” said Caleb.

“What?” Henderson put Tilly down, and then turned to Caleb and Julie.

“I'll trade you Pride for Glory.” Caleb gave Julie a quick glance. “I've got Dusty and…”

“And I could use a good horse,” said Julie with a twinkle in her eye as she stroked Glory. “She's a pretty one. I like her.”

“Besides, you're going to need Pride where you're going.” Caleb knew the gunfighter would not rest until the Redlegs who killed his wife and child paid the ultimate price. As much as Caleb would miss him, Pride belonged with Henderson.

“And tell Dr. Kathleen Sullivan when you see her I thank her for her father's medical bag. It's come in real handy,” said Julie matter-of-factly.

“What makes you think I'll be seeing her?” Henderson flushed as Caleb began to transfer his saddlebags from Glory and onto Pride.

“Men,” teased Julie with a wink. “A woman knows these things.”

“There's no way I'm gonna…that woman…” Henderson growled sheepishly as he crammed his Spencer rifle into the scabbard on Pride's saddle.

“Mr. Henderson, you are welcome here anytime. When you come back up this way, please pay us a visit.” Julie offered her hand to Henderson. Then she suddenly embraced the big man.

“That I will, Miss O'Toole,” said Henderson as he held Julie. Then he let her go and offered his hand to Caleb. His piercing eyes revealed the slightest hint of warmth. But the pain in his soul also held him away. He was already pushing south to the trail.

Caleb shook Henderson's hand and fought the lump that was building in his throat. There was too much to say. “Thank you.”

“Caleb O'Toole. You're about as good as a man gets, and I am the better for knowing you.” Henderson mounted Pride and stroked his big horse. “I would ride alongside you anywhere.” Henderson touched his hat, turned Pride toward the field, and urged the big warhorse into a gentle run. White puffs kicked up from Pride's hooves as the gunfighter parted the swirling snowflakes. He reached back and pulled up the collar of his duster as he rode across the valley and into the cold fading light.

“Let's eat.” Julie laid a gentle hand on Caleb's shoulder.

“Be right there. I'll put Glory in the barn first.”

“Smitty, you'll stay, of course,” said Julie, turning toward the house. “Tilly, how about a story? Once upon a time!”

“Once upon a time!” cried Tilly.

“A story!” said Smitty. “I do love a good story.”

“Once upon a time there was a very sad knight.” Tilly took Smitty's hand. “They cast a spell on him and he had to wander off into the Petrified Forest to slay the dragons with his magic fire wand!”

“What's a magic fire wand?” asked a confused Smitty.

“This one turns dragons into stars!” cried Tilly as she walked Smitty to the porch.

“Stars? What for?”

“Once the knight turns the dragons into stars, he can leave the Petrified Forest and ride to the castle where the beautiful and lonely princess is waiting for him…” explained Tilly as she led a mystified Smitty into the house.

Caleb watched as Henderson and Pride reached the end of the valley and disappeared into the pine trees. Then he grabbed his Henry and led Glory into the barn. He leaned the rifle beside the plow against the wall and lit a lantern against the dimming light of day. He took the saddle off Glory and brushed her down, noting the ripple of muscle. She had a bright, smart look to her. Henderson said she was fast. He would find out in the morning. Just then, he heard the soft whinny of his best friend. Dusty pawed the dirt, signaling his attentions. Caleb walked over and gave him a handful of oats.

“Hello, friend,” said Caleb as he stroked Dusty's nose. “You were the best of us all. Without you, we never would have made it.” Dusty tossed his head up and down as if he could understand. Then he let out a loud whinny. Caleb brushed his loyal horse gently as he looked through the barn door at the house. Smoke from the fire inside rose from the chimney. The smell of supper wafted through the mid-November cold. He heard the cackle of Smitty's laughter and the squeal of Tilly's glee. The door opened and Julie stuck her head out. Firelight danced off her golden hair. “Caleb! Supper's on!” she called.

“Coming!” As the comforting smell of Julie's cooking lingered in the cool air, Caleb's heart ached for the time when he looked across the supper table into the loving faces of his parents. There would be so much to say to them. He wondered how his father would react from behind his newspaper to the tales Caleb could tell. He would be proud, he thought. “Dusty, this spring, we've got work to do,” said Caleb to his horse as he glanced at the old rusty plow that leaned against the wall. He grabbed a bale of hay and tossed it easily down for Dusty and Glory. His arms and back were much stronger now. He had even grown two inches since that fateful June night in Great Bend. He felt he was nothing like the small boy who escaped from his burning home with his sisters those months ago, and yet, he was. He had stood strong for his mother, like a big oak tree. He kept his promise to her and never wavered. He discovered the things that lived deep inside him, the strength and the courage to keep going, no matter how hard the trail. And he had something else inside. It was something Touch the Clouds had once said. He had the roots of a warrior. It was here he would set these roots, in their little ranch under the painted mountains of the Bitterroot. He gave Dusty a final pat. Then he checked his knife, grabbed his Henry, and headed toward the house.

In the summer of 2009, I packed up my car and my dog, Joey, and headed for the Oregon Trail. I have always had a great love for Westerns. My own family has a pioneer history. They came across the Oregon Trail, the California Trail, and the Mormon Trail. Many settled in Utah near Salt Lake City. The pioneer part of my heritage produced very rugged individuals, women who became prairie doctors whose sons became doctors. But as I sat down to pull this story from my mind, I found that many of my “facts” about the Wild West came from Hollywood. Not good enough, I thought. There was only one thing I could do. Trace the route the O'Toole children of this book took in the summer of 1877, from the flat prairies of Great Bend, Kansas, along the Oregon and Bozeman Trails, to the Bitterroot Mountains. This is what Joey and I learned:

The Railroad Strike of 1877

By 1869, train travel had grown in popularity after the transcontinental railroad routes were established. Instead of spending months of rough travel on the Oregon, California, and Mormon Trails, a person could be whisked across the country in a matter of days. However, the Great Railroad Strike during the summer of 1877 forced many travelers heading west to face the many dangers of the Oregon Trail.

The Oregon Trail

By the 1830s, routes of rocky dirt roads had been established by fur traders and explorers traveling to the western United States. In the 1840s, these routes opened up to thousands of immigrants, pioneers, prospectors, and settlers during what was known as the Western Migration. The Oregon Trail was a two-thousand-mile route that began in Missouri and went west through parts of Kansas, Nebraska, and along the Platte River. It continued through Wyoming, Idaho, and Oregon. Thousands of wagons would gather near the Missouri River and cross in steady streams over the land. It provoked the many Indian nations. Forts were established to protect the settlers from these dangers.

The Bozeman Trail

Referred to often as “The Bloody Bozeman,” this trail split off the Oregon Trail near Fort Fetterman in southeastern Wyoming. Fort Fetterman was considered the last remaining outpost of civilization along the Platte River, as many of the forts of that time had been dismantled. Prospectors, miners, and fur traders caused great conflict with the Plains Indians as they made their way over the Bozeman Trail to and from Virginia City, Bannack, and the gold fields of Montana. Soldiers were sent to try to control the Sioux, Arapaho, and Cheyenne nations and attempt to force them into reservations. Indian attacks were frequent, because the Indians felt their way of life and rich hunting lands were being taken away from them by the expansion of whites during the Western Migration. For a while, the army shut down the trail due to treaty agreements and violence. It was reopened in 1876 after the Battle of Little Big Horn.

Dangers of the Oregon and Bozeman Trails

Cholera, disease, contamination, flash floods, tornados, snake bites, gunshot wounds, theft, murder, and attacks from hostile Indians were among the many dangers facing pioneers as they pursued their dreams of land, gold, and a new life.

The Indians

The
Pawnee,
who lived in mud huts and turned to farming, were prevalent along the Platte River. They had a peaceful existence with whites and traded with them. Many fought for the U.S. Army against other warring Indians and were used as scouts. One such scout was named Blue Hawk.
The
Sioux
(Lakota) had a fearsome reputation. Washington bowed to pressure to drive the Sioux out of their lands for the sake of the settlers and put them on reservations, only to drive them from those too. Thus, the great Sioux Wars continued. The year 1876 saw the Battle of Little Big Horn, which resulted in the massacre of General George Armstrong Custer and his troops by chiefs Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse, and others. Greatly respected chiefs Touch the Clouds and Red Cloud stopped fighting and lobbied for peace in Washington.
The
Nez
Perce
were surprise-attacked in Montana by soldiers and settlers at the famous 1877 Battle of Big Hole, their women and children gunned down in their sleep. After the battle, the greatly revered Chief Joseph led his people through Yellowstone Park toward Canada. Later, in Washington, Chief Joseph told his story and gained much sympathy. People finally began to understand the plight of the Native American People. Yellow Hawk was a scout for Chief Joseph who described a Nez Perce encounter with several young white settlers and some trappers in Yellowstone. The Indians killed the trappers, but for some reason let the children go free.

Wagon Trains

The Great Migration began in 1843, and over a half million pioneers over the next twenty-five years joined the push west. They traveled in or walked alongside ox- or horse-drawn wagons of different sizes, ranging from large Prairie Schooners that could haul a ton to hand carts and even wheelbarrows. Some wagon trains were quite large and were led by experienced wagon masters, sometimes escorted by the military to protect them from Indian attack during the Sioux Wars. The settlers mainly circled their wagons to provide a temporary corral for their livestock rather than to protect themselves from Indians. Often they could only make from two to ten miles a day. Children played games and were schooled along the way. So many traveled the land from 1843 to 1869 that the main trails were a graveyard of discarded objects and broken-down wagons. The bones of pioneers and livestock dead from violence or disease were scattered along the trail. Much of the Oregon Trail lacked any wood, so the pioneers would collect buffalo chips to burn in their campfires. Typical meals may have been a combination of coffee, beans, bacon, dried bread, buffalo, deer, and antelope.

Weapons

The
Colt
was the revolver of choice. It was single-action and held six .45-caliber bullets.
The
Enfield
was a single-shot musket and mainly a leftover from the early Civil War.
The
Sharps
was a heavy and very accurate single-shot breech-loading rifle. A skilled shooter could cock back the hammer, load a bullet, and fire at about ten rounds per minute. Lawmen preferred the lever-action and more modern and efficient
Winchester
rifle, which became known as “The Gun that Won the West.” The powerful lever-action
Henry
rifle came out of the 1860s and held up to twelve rounds.
The
Spencer
rifle was a bolt-action gun that held seven cartridges. It was a preferred choice for cavalry soldiers in the Civil War and the Indian Wars.

Women as Doctors

Prairie doctors were women who were not educated in medicine in any formal way, but were quite competent in caring for the sick or injured along the Oregon, California, and Mormon Trails. However, there was an emergence of women who got their certified training and medical degrees at the University of Cincinnati beginning in 1870. Treatment of a bad gunshot wound was primitive. If the injury was deemed to be too severe, it was common practice to cut off the limb with a saw and the help of either chloroform or whiskey to anesthetize the patient. However, some doctors were on the leading edge in their knowledge of surgery and infection, and amputation was not always necessary.

Cholera

The primary cause of this horrible disease that struck the pioneers and Native American Indians along the Oregon Trail and many towns along the Missouri River was contaminated water from refuse and human waste. There was no real cure for cholera. Some tried opium. Another primitive solution was something called bleeding. A vein was sliced and the patient was “bled,” the theory being that the cause was infected blood. Louis Pasteur of France theorized that water should be heated to expel germs. He experimented in the late 1860s and felt that hydration was the only helpful action taken, since so much fluid of the body was lost due to vomiting or diarrhea. Victims were often dead in hours. Through advanced trial and error over the years, ingestion of herbs, water, and rice in varying combinations was known to work once someone came down with the disease. Among the ingredients proven to be effective were onion, ginger, and bitter gourd. In Tilly's case, Dr. Sullivan gave her a mixture of water with herbs, rice, citrus, pepper, and bitter gourd to help cure her.

The Telegraph

This Morse code method of communication was lightning fast compared to the railroad or the Pony Express. By the 1860s, messages and letters could zip across the telegraph wires, and money could be transferred between banks. The military could send word of troop movements or Indian activity. Lawmen could give a town advance warning of outlaws on the loose. The Indians would also burn the poles and destroy the wires during the Indian Wars.

The Route

The story of twelve-year-old Caleb O'Toole and his two sisters begins in June of 1877 in the town of
Great
Bend, Kansas
. Run with an iron fist by Sheriff W. W. Winstead, Great Bend was a booming cattle town and cattle shipping center that had been founded formally in 1871. Many shops and businesses emerged, along with nine saloons. Buffalo roamed the area in great numbers. Colorful characters passed through this town, including the gunfighter Wild Bill Hickok and the famous scout and buffalo hunter, Buffalo Bill Cody.

In the story, cholera and violence leave the O'Toole children orphaned, and they flee in their wagon north to the Northern Railroad in Kearney Junction, Nebraska, to catch the train west and eventually to Montana. They travel to the
Smokey
Hill
River
and seek shelter for three days before riding north one hundred miles and seven days in the stifling heat to
Red
Cloud, Nebraska
, a booming pioneer town named after the great Sioux Chief, Red Cloud. Though trains were not running there until 1878, it was a bustling, lawful town, though smaller than Great Bend. Culture, businesses, and commerce were on the rise in anticipation of the coming railroad. The children head north seventy-five miles over four days to the
Platte
River
and
Kearney
Junction
to catch the train. There they learn that the trains were not running because of the Great Railroad Strike of 1877 and that the Montana line had not yet been completed. This forces them to journey west on the
Oregon
Trail
in their little one-horse wagon. They ride to
Dobytown, Nebraska
, on July 4th to wait for a wagon train to build up in order to travel under its protection. This western town was as lawless as it could get. Even the U.S. Army avoided it. Gamblers, thieves, cowboys, and the women who catered to them whooped it up in towns like this all over the West. Caleb and his sisters flee west for several days on the Oregon Trail and eventually to
Cottonwood
Springs, Nebraska
, one of the numerous supply towns that had emerged to serve and supply the wagon trains along the Oregon Trail. Many became ghost towns after the railroads took over. The children are forced to push farther west for another twenty miles to a Pawnee Indian camp, and then back on the Oregon Trail a hundred miles to
Ash
Hollow
in western Nebraska. Ash Hollow was a place known for its ash trees and fine water, where the Platte River split off north and south. It was shallow enough to cross. The waters there were safe to drink. Often, the pioneers would lower their wagons by rope since the steep trail made it almost impossible for the horses or oxen to pull the wagons safely.

By the end of July, Caleb and his sisters catch up with a wagon train on the North Platte River and make their way past
Chimney
Rock
,
Courthouse
Rock
, and
Scotts
Bluff
. These giant rock landmarks were famous in their pioneer history, signaling the end of their plains travel and into grander territory ahead. Another week and a hundred miles from Scotts Bluff put them into
Fort
Fetterman, Wyoming
. This was considered the last fort left along the Platte River and the Oregon Trail. It was an outpost not well-liked by any soldier, because it was so remote and devoid of human interaction. Here, the Oregon and California Trails split off west and the
Bozeman
Trail
went north toward Montana Territory. Mormons mainly took their wagons across the Oregon Trail on the northern Platte road to avoid conflict with others who did not approve of Mormons or their religious practices. They crossed over near Fort Fetterman and continued west until they picked up the Mormon Trail to Utah. The O'Toole children continue north on the Bozeman Trail. After a week of rough travel over a hundred miles, they come to the secret hideout,
Hole
in
the
Wall
. This famous hideout near the Big Horn Mountains in Wyoming was home to outlaws from the late 1860s, built up in the 1880s, featured pastureland for stolen cattle and several cabins, and was easily defended against the law or Indians. It later became the refuge of train robber Butch Cassidy and many other notorious figures of the Wild West. Farther north on the Bozeman Trail, the children meet Chief Touch the Clouds and are escorted for several weeks and over three hundred miles along the
Big
Horn
Mountains
into
Yellowstone
Park
, which was established in 1872. They come face-to-face with the notorious Sioux Chief, Sitting Bull. So far, they have come a thousand miles in nearly three months.