The Last Ride of Caleb O'Toole (10 page)

Caleb watched for a minute as his sister eagerly went about the task of learning how to stitch a wound. He had an instant respect for this doctor and a new understanding of how capable his sister was becoming. “Come, Tumble.” Caleb headed out the door. Tumble jumped up eagerly. “Let's go see Tilly.”

***

It was a week later, and Tilly was almost as good as new. It was nearing time to leave the Pawnee village. Caleb was afraid if they didn't go soon, it would be winter by the time they made the Bitterroot Mountains. Waiting for Henderson would be impossible. He survived, but his leg was of no use. He would have to remain in camp. For a while, it was safe. The Pawnee had set up observation points and were keeping a lookout. The Blackstones were nowhere to be found.

Caleb smiled to himself as Tilly snuggled beside Julie on some furs in the main hut near Blue Hawk. She loved to hear his stories. Other Pawnee men sat on their mats among the different-colored lodge poles in a circle and smoked. They watched as Blue Hawk, who was a medicine man as well as Chief, took the pipe and made his offering to Tirawa, the force in the sky the Pawnee believed created their star gods.

“The gods created the humans and all things.” He passed the pipe to Caleb and began to tell the story of the ancient Morning Star ritual, describing the capture of young girls that the Pawnee believed would ensure them a good year ahead. Caleb admired the hawk feathers that adorned the long wooden pipe. Observing from the others, he clamped his palm over the hole at the end of the pipe and drew the smoke into his lungs. When Blue Hawk got to the part of the story about human sacrifice, Tilly let out a loud shriek. Caleb choked on the smoke. His lungs practically exploded, throwing him into a fit of coughing.

“These things are no longer done,” offered Blue Hawk, giving Caleb a hard pat on the back. He chuckled as he noticed a wide-eyed Tilly squirming under her sister's arms. “There is much that has changed. We used to roam the land and hunt the buffalo. But the railroads came. We even helped build the tracks. We are mainly farmers now. Between the Sioux and the white man, we try to live in peace.”

Caleb, somewhat embarrassed and a little dizzy from the smoke, passed the pipe back to Blue Hawk. Wanting to redeem himself, he reached into his pocket and stuck three bullets into the webbing of the fingers on his right hand. Then he reached for his Sharps rifle with his left. Blue Hawk watched as Caleb pulled the hammer back and quickly crammed a shell into the breech. Blue Hawk broke into a toothy grin.

“Henderson showed me that. I've been practicing,” said Caleb.

“That was good.” Blue Hawk nodded in approval as he smoked his pipe. “Henderson was the best at it. First time I saw him do that we were at a full gallop riding with the Second Nebraska Cavalry. We came down on some Sioux warriors in the Dakotas at Whitestone Hill.”

“That was General Sully!” Caleb whispered to himself, remembering his father's condemnation of the attack. “He massacred the Sioux for killing settlers in Minnesota.”

“Once we saw what was happening, Henderson and I stopped fighting,” Blue Hawk said sadly. “I have no love for the Sioux. But these were peaceful people and had nothing to do with what happened in Minnesota. General Sully did not care. He was out to kill Indians. It was not right these things happened.”

Caleb took the pipe and puffed thoughtfully for a moment as Blue Hawk recalled his years of riding with Henderson along the Platte River against the Sioux Indians. “Later we fought together for the North during the war. We were scouts. I never saw a fighter the likes of Henderson. Course we were younger. Lots of winters have passed.”

“Were you there at Quick Creek?” asked Caleb. “When Henderson killed those Redlegs?”

“No. But I was with him when he found his wife and child dead and his house burned down after the war,” Blue Hawk said sadly. “Henderson was never the same after those men butchered his family. We went our separate ways. His heart turned very dark. After the war, he tracked and killed three of those men. Troops caught him and locked him up for many years. Some of my people found one of the Redlegs. We convinced him to confess. Roughed him up pretty good. They finally had to let Henderson go.”

“That was you?” Caleb asked excitedly.

“Took you long enough! I'm lucky I didn't rot in that prison!” Henderson, held upright by two Pawnee men, bellowed at Blue Hawk as they carried him into the hut. Dr. Sullivan entered right behind him. “Lucky I didn't keel over in the hands of Talking Crow here. It's witchcraft these women doctors perform. Not real medicine like a man!” Henderson gave Caleb a wink. He enjoyed getting a rise out of Dr. Sullivan as he began to feel better.

“You mean just cut your leg off and let it go at that, I suppose. Then beat you over the head with it. Would you have preferred that?” Dr. Sullivan answered in a huff, getting a smile out of Julie.

“Wouldn't do much good,” joked Julie. “He's pretty hardheaded.”

This got a big laugh out of Blue Hawk, who chattered along with the other Indians, translating. They seemed to find the exchange pretty funny.

“Tell me a story. Once upon a time!” Tilly said suddenly. Caleb smiled.
She must be feeling better
, he thought. Caleb felt warm in the company of the Pawnee people. It reminded him sadly of his mother and father.

Blue Hawk laughed. He liked little Tilly. He said something in Pawnee to the rest of the men and they all laughed. “Henderson, tell about the time we held off ten rebels in that saloon back in sixty-four.”

“Ten?” Henderson winced as the two Pawnee men leaned him against the side of the hut. “It was four! You must be getting old, Blue Hawk. Though I don't see how you saw anything, since you hid under the piano!” Tilly then crawled over to Henderson and tucked herself in his arms.

“My gun jammed!”

“Convenient. Never would have gotten into that mess if it weren't for me trying to save your hide,” growled Henderson.

“You got us into that one!” exclaimed Blue Hawk. Then he signed and talked with the other Indians, who all chuckled at the story. “What was the name of that woman who shot at you?”

“Pearl, I think,” said Henderson thinking back on the event. “And she was shootin' at everything.”

“Men and their stories,” muttered Dr. Sullivan. “I'm sure accuracy is not an issue here.”

“Tell it once upon a time! In a magic castle!” cried Tilly.

This stopped Henderson and Blue Hawk. The hut fell silent, and all the Pawnee looked around in anticipation. Finally, Blue Hawk signed, trying to explain what Tilly meant. This caused even more confusion.

“You have to tell it her way,” offered Caleb.

“Well,” said Henderson. “Once upon a time in this saloon, I mean magic castle, Blue Hawk and I got into this gunfight and we…”

“It was a knight!” said Tilly, causing Henderson to stumble. “And a servant!”

“She likes stories about King Arthur and castles,” said Julie.

“Anyway,” Henderson continued reluctantly. “We were surrounded by these rebs in the, uh, castle who started in on Blue Hawk, the, uh, servant, I mean…”

“Servant!” Blue Hawk replied indignantly. “I was never the servant. Why don't you be the servant?”

“It's just a story, dang it,” protested Henderson to Blue Hawk.

Blue Hawk chattered away with the other Pawnee Indians. One warrior, Running Horse, made what seemed to Caleb like a snide comment and Blue Hawk rebuffed him, causing the others to laugh at Blue Hawk.

“Anyway, the local saloon lady…” Henderson continued.

“The beautiful princess!” exclaimed Tilly delightedly.

“Yeah, uh, the beautiful princess started going crazy…” said Henderson.

“The dragons with black teeth were looking for the princess!” exclaimed Tilly.

“Actually, the dragons were trying to run off without paying for the princess's frog.” Henderson scratched his head, trying to figure out how to continue. “So she took out a gun…”

“No! The princess knew the dragons killed the muffin people, so they were going to eat her! Then she took out a magic fire wand!” cried Tilly.

“Magic fire wand, and started shooting up the saloon, I mean castle,” said Henderson.

“And turned the dragons into fish!” said Tilly.

Blue Hawk translated, trying to keep the other Pawnees up to date with the story. With this last piece of news, the Indians broke out in great discussion. Blue Hawk threw his hands up in the air and halted all conversation.

“We are confused,” said Blue Hawk. “We understand that the rebel white men are the dragons and a dragon is an ugly spirit that breathes fire. But a wand that can change a dragon into a fish? How does this happen? We also want to know who the muffin people are and why the dragons are interested in the frogs.”

“This is ridiculous!” said Dr. Sullivan as she and Julie laughed and held on to each other. The Pawnee thought it all deadly serious and leaned forward to hear the explanation.

“Look, daggone it!” roared Henderson in frustration. “I took out my magic fire wand and started changing the rebs, uh, dragons into fish. Blue Hawk, the servant…”

“I'm not the servant!” shouted Blue Hawk indignantly.

“Blue Hawk,” continued Henderson, “couldn't change any dragons because his wand jammed!”

“And the knight was the fastest with his wand in the whole magic castle and he saved the princess!” cried Tilly. “The end!”

“Well, it was something like that,” muttered Henderson.

Blue Hawk rapidly translated as the Indians gasped and nodded, delighted with Tilly's version of the story. When they were satisfied, Running Horse got up and started talking, pointing to Henderson. Blue Hawk nodded in agreement.

“They want to see how fast you are with your wand,” said Blue Hawk to Henderson. “They have heard of you for so many years, how Henderson was the fastest draw on the Oregon Trail. I told them it was a long time ago and maybe those years are past.” Blue Hawk winked at Caleb.

“Oh yeah, we'll see. Give me a gun!” Henderson struggled in his splint, and the two Pawnee Indians stood him up in the center of the hut. One of them handed Henderson a Colt. He tried to hold it with his left hand, but the pain from bullet wounds in his side and shoulder were too much. Then he used his right hand and jammed the gun into his trousers. Blue Hawk readied his pistol and faced him in the hut, the two warriors staring each other down. Caleb took Tilly and stood to the side.

“What?” cried Dr. Sullivan. “No, he can't. This is absurd. I just took three bullets out of the man.”

“Quiet there, Talking Crow,” said Henderson. “I know what I'm doing.”

“Julie, men are some of the stupidest beings on the planet. Whatever you do, don't fall in love with one,” warned Dr. Sullivan.

“Oh, so you like him?” giggled Julie as she shared the joke with Caleb. Caleb had heard Henderson and Dr. Sullivan banter back and forth enough to think something was up between them.

“What!” protested Dr. Sullivan. “Certainly not, he's a complete idiot. Watch and learn.”

“On the count of three,” said Blue Hawk.

“Go ahead!” growled Henderson. “Soon as Talking Crow shuts up.”

“One…two…three!” Blue Hawk drew quickly, but Henderson fumbled with his Colt and it fell to the ground. Blue Hawk won, to his great surprise. All the Indians began to clap him on the back as he proudly raised his hands.

“It's not my gun hand!” protested Henderson. “Tell them, Blue Hawk. You remember!”

“No. You've slowed down,” laughed Blue Hawk. “Maybe you need a new wand.”

“You got turned into a fish!” cried Tilly.

The crack of three gunshots in the distance delivered the news that shook Caleb to his feet. Instantly he looked for his Sharps as a Pawnee warrior ran into the hut. He spoke rapidly to Blue Hawk, and suddenly all the men grabbed guns and bows and ran outside. Blue Hawk faced Caleb and Henderson, deep concern etched in his proud face.

“They are here!” said Blue Hawk. “These Blackstones. You must go now.”

Caleb pulled Dusty around, and he and Julie rushed to load their wagon. Tilly held Tumble and crouched in the back. Some of the Pawnee men leaped onto their mounts and headed down one side of the river. Several more men took off down the other way as Blue Hawk stormed from his hut with his Winchester. Near the pass that led to the Pawnee camp, the gunfire continued in what sounded like a fierce fight. Pawnee women ran up carrying food, a couple of pots, and a few blankets and set them in the wagon. The women, children, and dogs began to head west for safety while four men rode up to either side of the wagon.

“Go now,” said Blue Hawk to Caleb. “We can try to throw them off, but we can't get into much of a fight with them or we'll have the government troops riding down on us like the old days. Jumping Dog and some of my men will ride north with you to the Oregon Trail, then west for a ways and see if you can hook up with a wagon train.” Blue Hawk gave Tilly a bear hug. “There are four of these Blackstones. They think we are Sioux here.” Blue Hawk explained. “We have some of their arrows and we shoot near these men. They see these Sioux arrows and they get frightened. Nothing scares folks like the Sioux. My warriors will try to drive them south down the river. It will give you time, but not more than a day or two.”

“Thank you, Blue Hawk.” Caleb shook the big Indian Chief's hand. “We will repay you some day.” Blue Hawk nodded, then he and Running Horse took off down the river.

Several Pawnee men on horseback rode up with Pride. One of the horses was pulling Henderson, who had been lashed to a wooden sled. Caleb, Julie, and Tilly ran to meet him.

“Listen, boy.” Henderson drew Caleb near to him, the old ferocity having returned to his eyes. “Be smart out there, trust no one. I'd take you to Bitterroot myself if I could, but right now I'm not much use to anyone. And having a man like me around will only get you into more trouble.”

“Where will you go?” asked Julie.

“Somewhere where he can heal, if he's ever going to use that leg again,” said Dr. Sullivan as she hurried over to them. In her hands she carried an old leather bag, which she handed to Julie. “Julie, this is for you.”

“What is it?” asked Julie.

“My father's medical bag. It's all I have left of him, but I have a hunch you'll need it on the trail. Hurry now.” She gave Julie a hug and kissed Tilly.

“I'll take good care of it,” said Julie, her eyes glistening with gratitude. “Thank you for everything, Dr. Sullivan.” She took Tilly's hand and climbed aboard the wagon.

“Boy,” said Henderson, “I need you to do something for me.” Henderson whistled and Pride trotted over. “Take Pride.”

“What?” said Caleb, confused.

“Treat him right, and he'll treat you right. He just might save your young hide.” Henderson's eyes told Caleb that this was a sacrifice of the greatest degree. “It took a brave man to head back into fire and do what you did for me back in Dobytown.” Henderson held out his hand and Caleb shook it. “Go on, now.”

“Yes, sir,” said Caleb. “I'll take good care of him.”

Caleb picked up his Sharps rifle and stuck it into the scabbard that used to hold Henderson's Spencer rifle. Then he adjusted the stirrups and mounted the great warhorse. Instantly, Pride snorted and pranced as Caleb led him over to the wagon. Julie tucked her Colt pistol next to her and grabbed the reins and guided Dusty away from the Pawnee camp. The four Pawnee men led them through the rocky pass to the trail. Once they neared the clearing, Caleb spotted the horses of the Blackstones. He could see dark figures in the hills far away, smoke coming from the guns. He prayed Blue Hawk would be true to his word and somehow throw the killers off track. And Caleb knew in his gut they would come after him if it took the rest of their days.

***

For several days, the four Pawnee Indians led Caleb and his sisters along the Platte River. A merciless mid-July sun beat down on them, but thankfully, they had been safe. They hadn't seen a wagon train, but they had some luck, for travelers before them had thrown away some items to lighten their load. Caleb loaded a large cask of bacon onto the wagon. At least they could eat that after the food that the Pawnee had given them was consumed. There was also a large tarp that had been discarded, and they figured a way to rig it for shade on the wagon. There was even a piano sitting by the trail. But no sign of the Blackstones. Blue Hawk had succeeded in pushing the killers farther south. Caleb knew at some point they would have to cross the river and head north to Montana Territory on the Bozeman Trail. At times he tried, but the river ran deep. As the days passed, Pride felt more like a part of him. The big horse responded to his new rider, and Caleb took great care of him, for he understood the importance of Henderson's gift. Pride could outrun any of the Pawnee horses, and he figured that would come in handy. Along the way, his Indian companions would often display their skills, riding and shooting. Caleb would try to match them, often nearly losing his balance and falling off Pride, only to grip the saddle horn to keep himself upright. The Pawnee would laugh at his awkwardness in a good-natured way.

Toward the end of the day as the prairie cooled, the leader, Jumping Dog, suddenly galloped past Caleb, letting out a war whoop. As he passed, he let go of his horse's reins and grabbed his rifle. Jumping Dog then stopped his horse and turned him around, racing back to the group, aiming his rifle as if to shoot. Then he suddenly brought his horse to a stop with just his legs, pretended to fire his old rifle, and then swiftly sheathed it. He grinned at Caleb in challenge.

All right
, Caleb thought,
we'll just see what I can do
. “Ya, Pride!” cried Caleb as he gave the big horse a squeeze with his legs. Pride shot forward, Caleb holding on tight. After about a hundred yards, he turned Pride back to the group. As they picked up speed, Caleb dropped the reins and, thinking on what Jumping Dog did, reached toward his Sharps and brought it to his shoulder. This was easy, he thought, for Pride was smooth as glass. Caleb spurred Pride at breakneck speed toward the Pawnee Indians. Julie and Tilly stood in the wagon to watch, clapping their hands for Caleb. Caleb, full of newfound confidence, raised his rifle and let out a whoop, shifted his weight back, and pushed his legs forward, thrusting his feet deeper into the stirrups. Pride took the signal and slammed to a halt. Caleb flew out of the saddle and over Pride's head.
BLAM!
The Sharps fired as it hit the ground and Caleb crashed into a heap. The Indians ducked for cover, then, seeing Caleb and everyone were all right, began to laugh. Embarrassed and bruised, Caleb brushed himself off and picked up his Sharps. Even Pride, standing stock-still, seemed to be laughing at him.

“I know what I did.” Caleb walked over to Pride. Gingerly, he reloaded his rifle and climbed back into the saddle.

“Caleb,” said Julie with a snicker. “Now I'm beginning to understand what Dr. Sullivan means about men being stubborn.”

“I can do it,” answered Caleb. “I just need to…”

“Practice,” said Jumping Dog with a toothy grin.

Caleb set his jaw and guided Pride to the trail. He took a deep breath, picked up the reins, and gave Pride a squeeze with his knees. “Ya!” Caleb cried, and again the black horse took off. On Caleb went, getting a feel for Pride as he let go of the reins. For a while, he just concentrated on the rhythm of the horse and the feel of him pounding underneath. As they bolted over the sandy trail, Caleb could feel every muscle twitching beneath him. With the slightest pressure, he could push Pride faster, while a gentle lean back would slow him down. Tremendous joy filled Caleb's heart as the warhorse seemed to obey his every command. Joy was something that was slow to return to him after the tragedy of Great Bend. Caleb discovered a strength in himself he never knew he had.

After what seemed like several miles, Caleb reached for his Sharps. Carefully, he raised the big rifle to his shoulder. He sped along the Platte River until he spotted an old broken wagon wheel resting in the trail ahead. He took aim. He could sense pulling the trigger. Carefully, he balanced himself as he pretended to fire his Sharps, then he leaned back and stuck his feet forward, giving Pride the signal to stop. Caleb stopped perfectly! Elated, he pressed forward to give the wonderful horse a pat.

Suddenly, the sound of screaming women and children filled the air. Up ahead was a band of Indians, their horses loaded with their tepees and belongings. Some were bathing in the river. The Indian women yelled and grabbed their children, pointing toward Caleb. Caleb jerked Pride to the side. His head was nearly blown off.

Caleb felt the whistle of a bullet fly by his head. Another shot was fired some hundred yards away, and Caleb whirled around in the saddle. Fear gripped him, and he froze as six Indians rode down on him with one purpose. To kill him. Pride twisted underneath Caleb, awaiting a signal from him. Was he to rush forward and meet the battle or would his new master turn him and run? Panic filled Caleb for a moment. Then he made up his mind. Run!

Caleb squeezed Pride with his knees and the huge horse reared and then leaped forward as if he were shot out of a cannon. In a blast of power, Caleb rode Pride on a race for his life. He could see the Indians try to surround him, but they couldn't quite head off Pride. On Caleb drove Pride at breakneck speed, and the more Caleb relaxed, the faster they went. Now he had a plan. Outrun them, yes, but he had to keep them away from Julie and Tilly. Caleb led the Indians on a chase through the scrub brush, over the rocks, crashing through streams. They fired on Caleb as he raced on. A bullet buzzed past Caleb's ear and took part of his hat off. The Indians were expert riders and shot with deadly accuracy. Now he needed to act or die. Caleb let go of the reins and reached for his Sharps. As he did, he stuck three bullets into the webbing of his right hand. He calmed himself as he turned in the saddle to face the Indians who trailed Pride by perhaps a hundred yards. Caleb shifted his weight and, with his knees, suddenly guided the warhorse to his left. Carefully, he sighted down on the lead Indian and let loose. The blast of the big Sharps nearly threw Caleb off his horse, but he quickly recovered. The lead Indian, surprised, veered off. Caleb quickly slammed another bullet into the breech and fired. The shell ejected and he immediately reloaded just the way Henderson taught him. In rapid fire, Caleb held the Indians off. None of them struck, but it was enough to give him the distance he needed to escape their fire. Caleb reached into his pocket at a full gallop and grabbed a handful of bullets. Quickly, he loaded the Sharps. He raced Pride around in a long circle. On they ran, but the Indians lost ground. They had met their match in Pride. Eventually, they slowed to a stop. Miraculously, they seemed to give up. Caleb thought about firing again, but there was no need. Then he saw why. His four Pawnee friends were lined up ahead, rifles in their hands and sighting in on the pursuers.

Jumping Dog shot his rifle into the air. Then he urged his horse forward to meet the attackers. In peace.

***

“They are Arapaho,” said Jumping Dog as he returned to Caleb. All the Indians had lowered their rifles and followed a ways closer. They seemed fascinated by Pride. Julie held the wagon back a short distance and hung on to Tumble in case he had any ideas of stirring things up. “They think you attack their women and children as they bathe in river. They have lost many of their people to white men. I tell them you don't mean harm.”

“It was my fault. I surprised them up the river. They shot at me and I tried to outrun them.” Caleb tried to keep himself from shaking from the ordeal. Jumping Dog signed with the Arapaho and they gestured back.

“They want to know the young white warrior who rides like an Indian. They say they have never seen such a horse. I tell them I teach you,” Jumping Dog said proudly.

“Yes. Tell them I say you are a good teacher,” smiled Caleb. “And you teach me to shoot too.”

As Jumping Dog spoke with the Arapaho, their leader began to gesture all around him. He looked confused as he explained something to Jumping Dog and finally all the Indians put up their hands, shrugging their shoulders.

“He says I am not such a good teacher for shooting. You miss and they knew not what you shot. They say you need to practice,” said Jumping Dog with a grin. “But they think you ride good.”

Again they spoke at length. Then the Arapaho turned their horses and galloped away, the trail dust kicking up behind their horses as they rode back toward their camp. They were a people who traveled fast and light, who could pack up their belongings and tepees within an hour. Battle had taught them to fight or flee quickly. Caleb had nearly been shot off his horse when he galloped into their midst, but he and his sisters were safe. He breathed a sigh of relief, for he had been lucky. He made a silent vow to be more careful.

“They say there is big wagon train some miles up ahead. We rest for tonight. Tomorrow we ride hard to Ash Hollow,” said Jumping Dog as he trotted past Caleb to the wagon.