Chapter 17

A few uneventful days later we arrived at Fort Mc Dowell. Founded by the California Volunteers during the war, it was supposed to be a base for union forces that were going to stop an expected invasion by southern troops. The invasion never happened, so the Volunteers sat around drinking and telling each other how brave they were. Eventually their camp, named Camp Verde, was taken over by a company of regulars and renamed Camp McDowell (later Fort McDowell). It was located near several important trails and was expected to protect travelers as well as the local farmers, ranchers, and miners from Indian attacks.

I looked around as we pulled in and saw just about what I expected to see, a collection of adobe buildings for the troops, a couple of nicer buildings for the officers, stables, a livery-blacksmith combination, a mercantile, and a saloon. A few shacks and wickiups housed the rest of the population. It would be more than a hundred years until the Apaches of the area learned that they could financially scalp the whites by building a casino.

As the rest of my party set up camp and saw to the animals, I went to the building that had the flag in front of it. As I entered the front room, a sergeant looked up from the paper work on his desk. “What you want lad” he said in a heavy Irish brogue.

“Sergeant, I would like to speak to whoever is in command if he is available,” I responded.

“Oh he’s about alright and he likes to talk to anyone passing through. That way he keeps up with what’s going on in the area. “Corporal Klinger,” he bellowed, “go tell Captain Pierce we got a visitor who wants to talk to him, I think the captain is inspecting Lieutenant Honeycutt’s troop, so go get im.”

Thank you sergeant,” I said, “I appreciate your help. Could I interest you in a small drop of whisky while we wait?” As I spoke, I took out a small flask I had filled just for this occasion. My years in the army had taught me that a little lubricant often made things move along more smoothly.

“Well ... I’m on duty but I think a wee drop for medicinal purposes will do no harm.” With that he drained half the flask. “Whoo,” he exclaimed, “that’s not the local rot gut, it’s the first real Irish whisky I’ve had in years. Have a seat lad, have a seat, and I’ll have another wee drop of this fine brew.” With that he finished off the flask.

Just then a tall, slender built man with captain’s bars on his shoulders walked into the room followed by another man with lieutenant’s bars. He got right to the point. “I’m Pierce, he’s Honeycutt, what can we do for you?”

“Well captain I’m Jim Olsen, and to start with I’d like to invite you and both the lieutenant and the sergeant to have supper with us at my camp. I can promise you fresh vegetables and an apple cobbler for dessert. After that I’d like to ask you about the general situation in the area and about the availability of land for farming and ranching.”

All three men had smiles as the captain said, “A change from beef, beans and hardtack would be great. Would five o’clock work for you?”

“Perfect,” I replied, “we’ll see you then.” With hand shakes all around I left and went to inform the ladies about our guests and to ask them to pull out all the stops. I definitely wanted the army on our side.

The rest of the afternoon was taken up with getting new shoes on any of the animals that needed them and doing preventive maintenance on the wagons. As that was being done I took one wagon, loaded up the women, and with bars of modern soap, bottles of shampoo all the towels we had, took them several miles up stream for privacy, so they could take baths and wash clothes. A couple of hours later, when they were all done with washing, combing, and brushing, I presented them with my piece de resistance, a bottle of modern perfume. I was now their favorite person.