Chapter 2: "Trail To Ellsworth"

Marshal Webb Hickson didn’t set a date for Jeremiah to be in Ellsworth, but the young deputy felt it was his responsibility to report there within ten days, since it showed to be just over three hundred miles by his map. That was well within what Webb Hickson had schooled him, back when he first got his black horse from the Sioux.

“Jeremiah, that hammer-headed black horse of yours will always be a damned outlaw and you better watch him close. He’s different from any horse I’ve ever seen. He’s as long winded as a cyclone, but he’s as mean as a momma grizzly, on his good days. Even on his bad days, he’s a better horse than all three of the horses I own ... put together.

“And another damn thing while I’m talking about this – you ought to give the horse a name, Son. It ain’t right, having a horse as spirited as he is, without even a name he can answer to.”

“Marshal, I asked the Sioux about his name and they told me, ‘No Name’ ... saying that he was born with no name, trained with no name, and sold to me with no name.”

“So, what do you say when you want him to come to you?”

“Come here, black horse.”

“You’re worse than the Sioux!”

Webb Hickson was right about one thing, that black horse of Jeremiah’s is as long winded as a cyclone. Jeremiah had to hold him back when they first started out. By mid day, he had him settled down into an easy-ambling gait. The sun was out and the snow and ice were melting. The trail was frozen in places and worse than sloppy in other places, but his black horse didn’t seem to pay any attention to any of it.

As the day wore on, dark was coming at him early, even with no clouds in the sky. He figured it was close to 4:30, with the sun about a half-hour from setting. Not knowing the territory, he began looking for a fairly safe place to make camp. A lake, a creek, a grove of trees or a single tree would be fine. Anywhere he could find a dry limb or two for a campfire.

Not seeing anything close by, he kept riding south until he saw a line of trees in the distance. He touched his heels to the flanks on the black, and in no time they were approaching what appeared to be a small creek. He saw an opening in the treeline and headed for it. This was an old wagon trail crossing that didn’t show signs of recent use. When he spotted a downed tree near the water’s edge, he laid the reins against his horse’s neck and turned him completely around, looking the place over before stepping to the ground. Satisfied there had been no one here since the blizzard, and no signs of trouble, Jeremiah stepped off his horse. He took his saddle, saddlebags and bedroll off and threw them across a tree limb. Then he slipped the bridle off his head and pulled his halter on, buckling it under his neck. He still wasn’t brave enough to let his horse loose without a halter and a rope on him. He’d had him a little over a year now and the big, blaze face black was just coming on five.

He wasn’t a bit skittish on the trail, but he still leaned more than a little bit toward the wild side.

Jeremiah thought of what Webb Hickson had told him... ‘He’ll always be an Outlaw’

From the day Webb Hickson told him that, Jeremiah called his big black, blaze face horse, Outlaw.

The creek was frozen, and with his boot heel, he stomped a hole in the ice so water could come up through the ice. Stomping a few more times, he had a place big enough for his horse to drink. He pulled him away from the ice cold water and led him over to the downed tree where he tied him while he took his feedbag and crushed oats out. As his horse ate, he wiped him down and brushed him out from hoof to ear, from tail to nose. Then he threw an army blanket over his back, tying it under his neck, and under his tail.

Once he had Outlaw taken care of, Jeremiah used his hand axe to hack off dried bark and small limbs from the dead tree. When he had enough to start his fire, he chopped off some larger limbs and broke them over his knee before setting his fire.

Dark had settled over the plains by the time Jeremiah had his coffee on to boil and his bedroll laid out on a patch of dead grass. His horse had finished his oats and he led him back to drink again.

He’d packed some biscuits, fried pork and yard-bird that Jessie had fixed for him. As he drank his coffee and ate his food, he thought of Jessie. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like, staying in one place like that, with a wife as pretty as Jessie – raising a family and working for a living. Then he wondered what kind of work he could he find. Whatever job he thought of, couldn’t come close to matching what he was doing now ... Not even being a local lawman in a town. He’d just started out really, but he loved what he was doing. This was what his Pa had wanted him to do. This is what his Pa had done all his life until he retired to become town marshal in Yankton, and he wanted to be just like him.

Holding his bedroll over the glowing coals, he warmed the canvas until it felt hot to his touch. Keeping the rest of his clothes on, he pulled his heavy, sheepskin lined canvas coat off and slid down into his bedroll. He pulled his heavy coat up over the top of the bedroll and the warmth felt so good, in no time he was asleep.

A week and two days later, Jeremiah was approaching Ellsworth, Kansas from the north. He could see the town ahead, no more than a quarter of a mile off. Looking to the west, he saw two riders coming at him with their horses in a full gallop. Not knowing who it might be and for sure, not wanting any trouble, he eased back on his reins, stopping his horse as the men continued to ride toward him.

“Easy there, Outlaw. We’re not going to run with them, Boy,” he spoke as his horse settled down.

As they rode up, the two men split, leaving Jeremiah between them.

The man directly in front of him wore a full suit of buckskins. His hair is long – down on his shoulders. He has a big, curvy mustache and he looks as if he’s mad. His hat is tall with a brim as wide as a Mexican sombrero. Jeremiah noticed the man wore his two guns, butt forward, in a cavalry reverse-draw. He wore no pistol scabbards, just a wide sash around his waist with his pistols shoved inside. He’d seen only one other man who wore two guns like that – Marshal Webb Hickson. Webb Hickson was an ex-cavalry officer himself.

“Where you headed, Boy?” the man Jeremiah had been studying, finally asked.

“Ellsworth.”

“What’s your business in Ellsworth?”

“Sheriff Chauncey Whitney. That is ... if it’s any of your business.”

“Boy, don’t be in such a hurry to get in trouble with the law out here.”

“Are you the law? I don’t see a badge,” Jeremiah said, pulling his coat open to reveal his own Deputy US Marshal’s badge.

“You’re awful young to be wearing a Deputy Marshal’s badge. Did you find it or steal it?” he asked, and the second man laughed. Then the long-haired man revealed his own Deputy US Marshal’s badge.

“No, did you?”

“Boy, you’re fixin’ to get in a of mess of trouble with that quick mouth of yours, if you keep on.”

“From where I sit, it appears you wear the same badge I do. If you’ll just back off, I’ll ride on into Ellsworth and keep my appointment with Sheriff Whitney. I’m sure that if you’d ride in with me and asked him, he’d tell you that he sent for Deputy US Marshal Jeremiah Trail.”

“Jeremiah Trail? Is that like a pig trail?” he asked and the two men laughed.

“Could well be, near as I can tell from what’s blocking the trail in front of me anyway.”

The other man spoke, laughing as he talked to the long-haired man facing Jeremiah. “J. B. looks like you got a live one here. He can out-talk your crazy-ass talk.”

“Boy, do you have any idea who I am?” the man facing him, asked.

“No, I don’t recognize you and I’ve never heard of a man called, J. B.”

“You ever hear of a man called Wild Bill?”

“Heard the name before. But then, I’ve heard there was more than one man who called himself, Wild Bill.”

“Have you ever heard the name, Wild Bill Hickok?”

“I have. Now I suppose you’re going to tell me, that you’re him?”

“For a fact I’m him, and the two of us are Deputy US Marshals assigned to Ellsworth County, Kansas under the jurisdiction of Sheriff Chauncey Whitney.”

“Then let’s stop with this talk and go meet your boss. I’m sure he’ll tell you that he sent my boss a message for me to come see him.”

“And just who might your boss be?”

“United States Marshal Webb Hickson, out of Watertown, up in Dakota Territory.”

“THE HELL YOU SAY!”

“No, just saying my boss’ name. Now, are all of us going to meet Sheriff Whitney, or am I going to have to ride in and meet him alone?”

“BOY! Ain’t no way in hell you’d draw down on two Deputy US Marshals when you ain’t even facing one of ‘em.”

“Don’t even think about trying me, Marshal Hickok.”

“Jeremiah, I’m Jack Harvey, Deputy US Marshal under Sheriff Whitney, same as J. B. over there. I got to tell you, I ain’t never seen no man make James Butler Hickok back down until today.” The other deputy spoke as Jeremiah rode between the men into Ellsworth.

Wild Bill grunted at his friend’s remark then told him, “I didn’t back down, damn it, and you know it. I just decided that we needed to let Chauncey settle this before I had to kill this damn kid marshal with his quick mouth. ‘Sides that, I’m about to take a liking to the boy. Reminds me a lot of my own self when I was about that age.”

Settle it, he did too. Sheriff Chauncey Whitney informed Wild Bill Hickok and Jack Harvey that they now have a third Deputy US Marshal patrolling Ellsworth County with them, and that he expected them to work together peaceably, as they keep peace in the county.

Within a week the three deputies had come to grips with the fact they were in this together. There was still a lot of friendly jostling back and forth, as there always would be when James Butler Hickok was in the mix of things.

Jeremiah, being the youngest, bore the brunt of their friendly jokes. But as he had displayed from the beginning, he could hold his own when quick-spoken words led to red faces with tempers close to flaring.

Their camaraderie was even more so on display when the three of them entered a saloon or gambling hall. Though Jeremiah didn’t drink or gamble, he was included in their forays of revelry and hell raising, as Wild Bill and Jack Harvey crowded the card tables and caroused the back rooms.

Hickok was known far and wide as a wizard with a deck of cards. When he wasn’t employed as a lawman, he paid his way at the card tables. At times, he hired on as a dealer in a gambling hall when things were slow and he couldn’t get up a friendly game. It had been told, that when Wild Bill Hickok was nearby, trouble and a deck of cards were both within arm’s reach.

During the early summer months there were many nights when Jeremiah wasn’t in the mood to go carousing with his fellow marshals. He’d found a spot on the banks of Smokey Hill River, upstream a few miles from Ellsworth. This place appealed to him so much, he set up a temporary camp. The quiet and solitude reminded him of back in Watertown, though there was no actual comparison.

He bathed in the river, morning and night, swimming up and down river, free as a fish, with no one around. Then, something happened one evening, of which Jeremiah would forever remember the events leading up to the shock of his life.

Outlaw was secured on a long tether, grazing on the green grass out on the flat near the river. Jeremiah had just stepped out of the water on the south side where his camp was located. He was drying his hair and wiping body when he heard a loud splash. He quickly turned to look across the river and the first thing he saw was a young woman swimming naked. The first time in his life he’d seen a naked woman. At first, Jeremiah felt guilty as he watched her swim slow and easy downstream, past where he sat on his blanket. When she disappeared around a bend, Jeremiah stood and pulled his britches on.

He was watching for her return upriver, since her clothes were piled near the water across from where he sat. He wasn’t sure what to do. There was no way he could break camp and leave without being seen. For sure, he didn’t want to be caught watching a naked girl swim in the river. He was a deputy marshal and he had an upstanding reputation to protect. He sat wondering about the spectacle he’d just witnessed, trying to think of what to do next, when from behind him – she spoke...

“I was hoping you’d be here today,” she said.

Jeremiah twisted around to see her standing there, not three feet from him. Not trying in any way to cover her naked body.

“You ... you were?”

“Yes, I’ve been coming here for weeks, since the first time I saw you swim naked. I wanted to swim with you, but I was afraid of what you’d think if I yelled across and asked if I could.”

“Don’t you think you should cover yourself?”

“I’m not ashamed of how I look naked. I’ve been swimming naked here alone since I was eleven and now that I’m about to be a woman, I still love swimming naked in the river.”

“Where are your folks? I don’t want to be shot for being caught with you naked.”

“There’s just my ma and me. We live upriver about a half a mile. This is the best place to swim without all the brush and weeds along the bank, so I come here. Sometimes Ma comes with me, but I’m glad now she didn’t come today.”

“I hope she don’t come looking for you now and catch you standing here naked, with your clothes on the other side of the river.”

“She’s seen you swim naked before too.”

“Uhhh, then I suppose I need to find another place to make camp. I didn’t know anyone lived nearby and I sure didn’t mean to swim naked in front of two women.”