The Last Ride of Caleb O'Toole (8 page)

“The shell ejects, then you reload quick, see. You can kill four men that way,” said Henderson as he handed Caleb the Sharps. “When you can do that at a gallop, then you might just survive out here.” Then Henderson rolled over with a groan.

“How did you do that?” Caleb said as he picked up the bullets. Carefully he arranged them in the webbing of his fingers. He pulled back the hammer and tried to jam a shell into the chamber, but it tumbled to the dirt.

“Practice,” said a low rumbling voice. “Keep a sharp eye out, now.”

***

“Caleb!” cried Julie as she shook her brother awake in the morning sun. “Caleb, wake up!”

Caleb shot awake and reached for his rifle. His sister knelt before him, tears streaming down her pretty face. “What's wrong?”

“Tilly! It's cholera! She's got the shakes!”

Caleb crawled on his hands and knees over to his little sister. She was convulsing terribly. He gently felt her forehead. It was hot. He knew the signs. Both their parents had died this way. A terrifying feeling washed over him. They had to get help and fast or Tilly could die in a matter of hours.

“Get her in the wagon!” cried Caleb as he ran to hitch up Dusty.

Caleb rode Pride like a man possessed alongside the Platte River in the blazing Nebraska heat. It took him all morning to become accustomed to the big horse, but more and more he felt a part of him. At a full run, he smoothed out like glass. The huge warhorse glistened with sweat and pounded the ground in a thunderous beat. Desperately, Caleb searched the horizon for signs of anyone who could help them. Tilly was fading fast. If he didn't find some kind of help, she would surely perish. He turned in the saddle at a full gallop and looked over his shoulder for Julie. He could still see her in the distance, driving Dusty and the buckboard as fast as his loyal horse could pull them. The little wagon flew after him across the scorching prairie, kicking up the drying mud from the storm.

Caleb tore up a small rise to the top for a look. The plains were mostly flat, and looking out from the hill, he could see miles in any direction. The green and gold prairie grass grew tall over the clay-colored landscape. Ahead the river carved through shallow rocky ravines. It felt vast and lonely. Caleb stood in the saddle and his heart fell. Nothing. No one. All morning, Tilly shivered and shook, cried out in her agony. Along the way, he had stopped several times for anything useful lying on the Oregon Trail. Julie spotted several yards of cloth in a thicket and she had draped it over her sister to shelter her from the noon sun. Dehydration was Tilly's worst enemy, and Julie filled some bottles she had spotted along the trail with river water and forced Tilly to drink.

Lord, Caleb cursed to himself, there must be someone around. He was just about to head back toward Julie and the wagon when something caught his eye. Just the slightest glimmer in the sun. A reflection! “Pride! Go! Ya!” Caleb squeezed the big black stallion with his knees, and the horse shot forward with a surge of power. He raced down the hill and back to the trail, urging Pride straight west. He squeezed Pride again and the horse responded mightily, his head straining forward and his tail flying straight back in the wind. Caleb's heart pounded, for as fast as Dusty was, he was no match for Henderson's horse. On he raced until Caleb could see what was causing the reflection. Wagons!

***

“Hold it right there!” shouted the wagon master as Caleb rode toward the front wagon. It was hardly a big train, more like a few families who stuck together and decided to go it alone on the trail. There were just six horse-drawn ordinary farm wagons traveling in single file. These were not the big Calistoga type, or the Prairie Schooners that were pulled by oxen and could carry thousands of pounds. He eased Pride to a stop and raised his hands as rifle barrels suddenly appeared from the cloth covers, or bonnets, of the wagons. Caleb could hear the
CLACK
CLICK
of the cocking weapons from the travelers hidden inside. Julie brought the buckboard to a halt some yards away, skillfully reining in an exhausted Dusty.

“We need help!”

“You ought to know better than to ride up on someone like that, boy!” said the wagon master as he lowered his Winchester. “Liable to get yourselves shot.”

“We've got a sick child!” pleaded Julie.

The wagon master thought for a second as if weighing the pros and cons of slowing their trip to help out. “Bess! Says they got a sick child!”

Instantly, a frowning woman stuck her head out from the second wagon. She had on a white head cover and bib. She studied Caleb for an instant, then looked over to Julie. Julie leaped off the wagon, gathered Tilly in her arms, then carried her toward the wagon train.

“What's wrong with her?” asked Bess as she climbed down from the wagon.

“She's burning up with fever. We think she's got cholera.” Julie brought Tilly over to Bess, whose face changed in an instant. Fear crossed her face as she recoiled from Julie like she'd seen the devil.

“Cholera!” shouted Bess.

The wagon master grabbed Julie roughly and marched her back to the buckboard. “You can just turn right around and ride away from here. We got enough of our own troubles!”

“Please!” Caleb exclaimed. “She needs help. She won't last.”

“Says she's got the cholera!” Bess scrambled back into her wagon and shouted to the others inside. Caleb could hear alarmed voices responding to the news. Several more rifles appeared from the wagons. Caleb backed Pride away a few steps. “Keep her away from here! Get away!”

“Please. Please help us!” cried Julie.

“Move on, hear?” The wagon master raised his Winchester and leveled it at Caleb. “Cottonwood Springs is a few hours west, then south. Take the left fork. Get a doctor there! Go on now!”

***

Three hours later, they made Cottonwood Springs, a few miles south of the Platte River. Along the road, they passed some Indians heading toward town, some walking and some on horses. Caleb recognized them as Arapaho.
Most
likely
the
Indians
are
looking
to
trade
, thought Caleb. He pulled Pride to a stop about a half-mile outside town, Julie and the wagon right behind him. He figured he should hide Henderson, for riding in with the gunfighter was attention they could ill afford.

Caleb led Pride to a cluster of trees about a hundred yards off the road that looked like it would serve as good cover. If Henderson was right in his thinking, towns up and down the Platte River would have heard the news about the shoot-out in Dobytown, the murders in Great Bend, and their run-in with the Whittickers. Caleb had seen a telegraph office when they rode toward Cottonwood Springs. The Blackstones and Sheriff Wayne would be casting their net. He had to keep Henderson out of sight.

“Go on, kid,” whispered Henderson as if he read Caleb's mind. “Leave me be. Just help me over there, then go take care of your sister.” Henderson nodded to a big oak tree.

Caleb and Julie carefully laid the gunfighter down on the other side of the big tree. Henderson's wounds were oozing blood and fluid. It was hard to figure how the man was still alive. Caleb tied off Pride a short distance away so he could drink from a little brook. He left the saddle on the horse, then he filled Henderson's canteen and placed it next to him. “Better go, kid.” Henderson reached for his Colt and placed it by his side.

***

Caleb drove the wagon through Cottonwood Springs. It was the sort of outfitter town that sprang up along the Platte River and the Oregon Trail. In its heyday, it was most likely prosperous as the pioneers replenished their supplies for their journey. When the Northern Railroad came, the wagon trains dwindled and these old towns had fallen on hard times. Caleb passed a few shops, the livery, church, and a saloon, searching for a doctor. He made a mental note of them as he drove Dusty hard. Several folks crossing the main road had to jump from their path. Then he found what they were looking for. A sign hanging just the other side of the street from the Sheriff's office.

DOCTOR LEE M. JEFFERSON MEDICINE AND SURGERY

Caleb brought Dusty to a halt. He cast a wary eye at the Sheriff's office and vaulted from the wagon. He stared through the window of the doctor's office. Julie jumped down and grabbed Tilly in her arms and rushed to Caleb. “Is there anyone in there?” she said breathlessly.

“I think I see someone. Come on,” said Caleb as he ran to the door.

***

“It's cholera all right,” said Doctor Lee M. Jefferson as he examined Tilly, who was stretched out on a table. She could barely open her eyes. He then wheeled a squeaky old instrument stand over to the table and began some preparations. He picked up a cloth and poured some alcohol over it. Instantly the room smelled of medicine. “How long has she been like this?”

“Several days,” said Caleb as he held Tilly's tiny hand.

“Our parents had it weeks ago,” said Julie despondently.

“Dead, I take it?” asked Jefferson matter-of-factly. Caleb nodded to the doctor. “It can happen this way. Sometimes it can take ten days or so for someone to catch it. She's lucky to make it this far, little thing. Some are dead in a day. Sorry to say I don't hold much hope for her.” Jefferson shook his head sadly. Then he began to swab Tilly's wrist with the alcohol.

“What are her chances?” said Julie, fighting tears as she gently stroked her little sister's face.

“Fifty-fifty at best. Fifty-fifty.” Then Jefferson picked up a razor. Carefully, he sliced a vein in Tilly's wrist. Then he placed her hand in a bowl next to her. The blood began to drip slowly into the bowl. “Best thing is to bleed her.”

“Bleed her?” Caleb was horrified at seeing his sister's little hand resting in the bowl.

“Get that infected blood out. Then we'll see if she'll come around.” Jefferson looked over at Caleb and motioned him toward the door. “Might take some time before we know anything. You both don't need to be here.”

“Caleb, I'll stay with her,” said Julie.

Caleb headed toward the door. “I'll be back after I pick up some supplies from that feed store we passed.”

***

Caleb eased Dusty down Main Street, Tumble at his side. He remembered there was a general store at the other end of town. As much as he wanted to stay at Doc Jefferson's office and be with Tilly, he knew they had to lay in supplies quickly if they were to continue on the Oregon Trail. There was one main problem. They had no money. Caleb pulled up to the store and climbed down, tying Tumble to the wagon. He brushed past several Arapaho Indians. Known as traders, they milled around the various goods and supplies stacked near the door, looking to exchange their skins and furs for anything they could use.

Caleb peered through the window. A man behind a counter was talking with a woman customer. He stepped inside the store to the sound of a bell signaling his entrance and casually checked out the shelves that were stocked with everything a pioneer could use: sacks of feed, canned goods, and sugar. There were tools, clothing, and blankets. Caleb knew he needed too much to even ask for a handout and he had nothing but his horse and his Sharps to deal in trade.

“That will be five dollars and sixty cents, Mrs. Tuttle,” said the skinny-necked owner of the store. Caleb gave the man a quick glance as he tended to the lady who was finishing up her shopping.

“Thank you, Mr. Dodder. My, things are getting so expensive. Business must be picking up with the wagon trains coming around again,” said Mrs. Tuttle as she gathered up her things.

“Yep. Had a big one come through last week. Don't expect things to last once the railroad starts runnin' again. Sign of the times. I hear your boys had a tussle with some of the Pawnee up on the ridge,” said Dodder, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. “Gall-darn Injuns.”

“The Pawnee claim it was these Arapaho. My guess, it was some Sioux. Either way, it's getting so you can't hang on to your stock these days.” The woman sniffed her disgust.

“Too many comin' around here beggin',” said Mr. Dodder, nodding in agreement.

Caleb held a can of beans in his hands like it was gold. He could pocket it, he thought. Who would know? After all, no one would blame him if they knew of their hopeless plight. He started secretly shoving food into his pockets when the thought struck him. Stealing! He just couldn't do it, even if they were in such dire straits. He could hear the voice of his father scolding him. One thing about the O'Tooles, they were honest. He began to put the cans back on the shelf when the barrel of a rifle pushed into his chest.

“What do you think you're doing, you little thief?” said Dodder as he grabbed Caleb's collar.

“I was putting them back, sir, I swear.” Caleb struggled briefly in Dodder's grasp, and then stopped, worried the rifle might go off accidently.

“What's that in your pocket, then, boy?” asked Dodder.

Caleb reached in his pocket and started to put one last can back on the shelf. Dodder stopped him.

“No, you don't!” exclaimed Dodder. “That's evidence!”

“Boy needs to be taught a lesson, Mr. Dodder,” offered the snooty Mrs. Tuttle.

“That's my thinkin'. A visit to Sheriff Ed ought to do it!”

With righteous fury, Mr. Dodder marched Caleb at gunpoint outside and started toward Sheriff Ed's office. Tumble bounded from the wagon in a barking fit, snapping the rope tight as he nipped at the feet of Dodder. Startled, Dodder kicked hard at Tumble, who answered by snatching Dodder's pant leg in his mighty jaws and giving it a good rip. Fortunately for Dodder, the rope held fast.

“Keep that dog away, boy, or I'll shoot him!” Dodder tried to jerk his pants from Tumble's jaws.

“Tumble, no!” shouted Caleb. “Back in the wagon, boy.” Tumble gave Dodder one more growl and did as he was told, leaping back aboard the buckboard.

Dodder marched Caleb down Main Street toward the Sheriff's office. Several townsfolk cast disapproving looks his way as the skinny store-owner prodded him in the back with his rifle. He felt both humiliated and angry with himself and kept his head down as Dodder hustled him along. Julie appeared from Doc Jefferson's office. Tears streaked her face as she ran toward them. “Caleb!” she cried. “Oh, Caleb, it's real bad. We can't wake her up!” As she caught up with them, she noticed Dodder's hand on Caleb's collar and the gun barrel pointed at his back. “Caleb, what happened?”