Chapter 2

Eli left Boones Crossing with the rising sun at his back, heading into the open plains of central Kansas. He crossed a few trails that weren’t well traveled, but kept his horse pointed south and west through the low brush and tall grass. He stopped at a small creek around midday and let his horse drink, as he drank from the dirty looking water. He remembered the clear, cool waters of Basin River and Catcher’s Creek.

The September sun was hot on his face as he rode on into late afternoon. He saw a copse of trees ahead to his right and turned his horse in that direction, hoping to find a good campsite and shelter for the night. Eli was in luck. He came upon a small river with a short bluff on the north bank. Crossing the shallow river on his horse, he noticed a trail up the bank and followed it to a cleft of red dirt that jutted out from the bluff, leaving an area just the right size for a man’s camp. There were trees around on the river side and above him on the higher bluff.

In his travels since he rescued his sister Rose, Eli had never felt the need for a campfire, unless it was so cold he had to. Today was no different. He hobbled his horse in a patch of green grass and as the sun fell below the treetops west of the river, he stretched out on top of his bedroll. He still carried the big knife that once belonged to his ma’s father and kept the scattergun of his pa’s tied to his saddle horn.

With his saddle for a head rest, he lay back and took stock of his life, trying to find a peace within that had been scarce to come by since his ma’s death, and his sister’s rape. He let his eyes close and thought back over the past weeks, months and years.

His stay in Boones Crossing had been one of the better times of his young life, especially since he’d left home. He could still see the big smiling face of Marshal Dal Hopkins and sweet smile of Mary Connor as she cut her eyes at him shyly.

He thought of the two brothers who had jumped him for no reason other than his ma’s Indian blood that mixed with his pa’s and ran through his body.

Eli felt the peace when it settled over him, drifting in with his breath, soothing his tired muscles and easing his troubled thoughts. He felt his spirit rise up and rest above the earth, looking down at his camp by the river. He saw his sister Rose as she smiled and waved to him. He turned to look into the sky and saw the spirit of his ma as she too smiled and waved down to him. Eli looked around, but still didn’t see his pa.

He looked closer at the old home place and saw his pa, sitting by the grave of Little Deer, his hat in his hands, his face on his knees as he cried.

He watched as Little Deer came down to his pa, pulling him to his feet. She cupped his face in her hands, wiping away his tears. He saw them smile and heard their laughter as they held hands and walked over the top of the hill and off into the horizon.

Eli awoke from his sleep and remembered the dream. He sat until near daybreak, at peace, with a new mind-set.

He saw his ma again as she danced her Indian Maiden dance across the sky and skipped through the early morning stars. Her white buckskin moccasins flashing and sparkling with the beads she’d sewn into them. As the sun rose in the east, she touched his face with her fingertips, pointing to the west, drifting slowly into the sky to disappear.

Eli stood looking around his campsite, and up at the morning sky over the tops of the trees. He knew the first part of the night was a dream, the second wasn’t. He’d seen his sister Rose, his pa and his ma. Rose was alright and his pa was alive. He felt the urge to go back, but he remembered his ma pointing to the west. He must go west and discover the path that will take him to the place he was meant to be.

Eli rode west, more than south, skirting most towns and communities. Stopping at one small township, he bought beef jerky and more .45 cartridges for his pistol. He had been practicing more with it now, since he felt obliged to heed Dal Hopkins urgings to become a lawman. Eli was no stranger to the big Colt. He’d carried it on his hip for more than a few years now, ever since he’d taken it from one of the men who had killed his ma. He’d stopped many times to shoot at targets along the way.

He drifted for nearly two years, getting small paying jobs and working for food and shelter where he could find it. He grew taller and put on weight, keeping his tall body fit by hard work and eating when he could afford it.

While purchasing his meager supplies at a small trading post in south Kansas, he heard talk of Indian Territory just a few miles south of where he was. One man wore a big silver star, wearing buckskins, with a big Colt on his hip. He’d heard the man say he was a deputy U.S. Marshal for Judge William Story out of Fayetteville, Arkansas.

When the two walked out of the trading post, Eli approached the deputy and asked about his position and if there was any special training or could anyone become a deputy.

“Hell kid, anyone with the guts to ride the Territory can be hired by Judge Bill Story. You’re Half-Breed Cherokee right?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Don’t Sir me, save that for Judge Story. Just never, ever call him, Sir. Always address him as Your Honor, or Judge Story. He’s crooked as a snake and about as trustworthy, but he takes care of his deputies. Where you out of, anyway?”

“Missouri.”

“Can you use that Colt .45 with accuracy?”

“Yep, I reckon.”

“I’m headed over to Arkansas City to pick up a prisoner from the county sheriff, then head back down to collect my pay from the Judge. C’mon ride along with me and I’ll try and get you set up. You don’t drink or smoke, do you?”

“No.”

“That’s even better. The Judge frowns on that most of all. You’ll need some better clothes for riding the Territory though. You’ll be taken for a sodbuster, wearing them clothes. If the Judge hires you, ask for an advance in pay to buy a rifle and buckskins. He’ll let you have it, you’re a likable sort. How old are you anyway?”

“I was 19 on October first.”

“Tell the judge you’re 21.”

“You think he’d believe that?”

“Hell, he’ll believe anything to get a few more deputies. You being Cherokee will fit well with Judge Story too. He knows you can go where I can’t even go in the Territory.”

“By the way, they call me Duncan. What’s your name?”

“Eli ... Eli Crow.”

“Good name, I like that name. Got a good ring to it. I hope the Judge lets you ride with me a while. I’ll show you the do’s and don’ts about bein’ a lawman and even get you a girl. You ever laid with a girl, Eli?”

“No.”

“Hot Damn, Eli. We’ll have us some fun.”

Eli rode with Duncan over to Arkansas City, Kansas, listening to his stories about all the outlaws he’d captured and brought into Fayetteville for justice. Duncan told him that his second year as a Deputy U.S. Marshal in The Indian Territory he’d made nearly $200.00, and last year he’d made a little over $250.00.

Eli had no idea how it would feel to make that much money in just one year. He knew that in a few years of making money like that, he’d have enough to buy his own spread and maybe even go back and see if Mary was still there.

He watched Duncan closely, looking him over as he talked. He wasn’t much older than Eli, though shorter and fatter. He was a likable person though and Eli wanted to somehow get in the lawman business. He had to try, out of respect to Marshal Dal Hopkins over in Boones Crossing.

“Here’s the sheriff’s office, Eli. You stay behind me and keep quiet. The prisoner I’m about to pick up is from over’n Missouri like you. He once rode with Quantrill’s Raiders, raping and killing women and children alike. He’s been wanted for over five years and when Sheriff Karnes arrested him, he sent word to Judge Story. Judge Story sent me to bring him back, knowing I was the best he had.”

“Duncan, good to see you again. How’ve you been?” Sheriff Karnes spoke to Duncan as he looked at the tall Indian with him.

“Been well, Sheriff. I see you got me a good’un this time.”

“Yep, you’ll need to be careful with him. I’ve already seen some strangers hanging close by and rumor has it they’re some of the old Quantrill’s Raiders. I didn’t see anyone I recognized though. Just be careful out there with this one.”

“You know I’m always careful, Sheriff. Judge Story sends me ‘cause he knows I bring’em back.”

“I reckon he does, Duncan. Just be careful, was all I had to say.”

“I got me some back up, Sheriff. I’m training this kid so maybe Judge Story will hire him when we get back to Arkansas.”

“He’s sure a tall quiet one. Half-Breed too, huh? I know William will hire this’n. He likes to send the Half-Breeds out to being ‘em back from the Territory.”

“Yeah, I reckon he does at that. Are we ready to ride? I’d like to get back down inside the east corner of the Territory before dark, that way we’ll be on the road just part of three days.”

“My men will bring him out. He’s shackled hand and foot and we’ll shackle him to his saddle. Just be careful when you settle for the night.”

“We’ll make sure we keep an eye out, Sheriff.”

Eli watched as they brought the chained man from the jail cell. He could hardly walk, the chains were so heavy and closely fitted on his feet. The man had a shaggy beard, long tangled hair and had his hat stuffed down on his head by a deputy.

They led him out to his horse and the blacksmith was standing close by with his hammer and a big link of chain to fasten him to his saddle tree.

He may get off his horse, but he’d still be chained to his saddle. Eli saw real quick the man was going to have to sleep with his saddle close by. The chains were that short.

Eli stood on the boardwalk in front of the sheriff’s office and watched as the deputies lifted the shackled man into his saddle. He watched with interest as the burly blacksmith hammered the heavy link closed, fastening the prisoner to his saddle.

He looked up from the activity in front of him and scanned the street, looking at the crowd that had gathered. He saw men, women, and children pushing their way up close to get a look. He saw three men across the street in front of the saloon, leaning against the wall and grinning at each other as if they’d seen something funny. He watched as they mounted and rode out of town in the direction he and Duncan had ridden here from.

The sheriff’s deputies tied a ten foot lead rope from one side of the bridle on the prisoner’s horse and looped it over Duncan’s saddle horn.

They took another ten foot lead rope and tied it to the other side of the horse’s bridle and looped it over Eli’s saddle horn.

The three left Arkansas City at midday on October 18th, 1874, headed in a southeasterly direction.

This part of the country was covered in low brush and dead grass, with only a few scattered patches of green grass to be seen. Duncan kept poking the prisoner’s horse with his foot, making him step it up until they were moving at a fast paced walk. The prisoner rode just a few feet ahead, Duncan and Eli behind and on either side of him.

Twice, Eli saw three riders at a distance up the trail in front of them, and pointed to them. Duncan nodded and put his finger to his lips.

The three rode in silence most of the afternoon, all three keeping an eye out on the trail ahead. Duncan turned to look at Eli ... he wasn’t in his saddle. He saw a glimpse of him as he ran silently into a growth of brush and small trees, his hat and boots hanging from his saddle horn.

Duncan rode on in silence as usual, keeping an ever watchful eye on the trail even closer now, fearing an ambush more than ever. He thumbed the leather loop from his pistol and loosened the thong on his scattergun.

Eli ran through the brush, trees, and dead grass like a deer, with no more sound than a shadow. He looked to his left and caught sight of the three riders through the brush. It was in fact, the same three he’d seen earlier in town. Eli ran ahead of them and crept to within a mere three feet of the trail and crouched under some scrub brush.

“When are we gonna take ‘em, Dawkins? It’ll be dark in an hour or so,” one rider asked, as they rode by on the trail.

“Soon enough. There’s a place up here that’s covered in brush and tall grass. We’ll step off the horses in the bend of the trail you see coming up. The horses will keep walking for a ways and we’ll get set to take them. This is going to be fun, taking that smart-ass Duncan and that dumb-ass Injun he’s got tagging along.”

When they had passed by, Eli crouched low and ran through the brush past them, never making a sound that even their horses could hear. He saw the tall dry, drought stricken grass patch ahead they had spoken of and ran for it. He looked back and saw the three riders slip from their horses, running hard and fast to hide in the tall grass and scrub brush.

The first rider to make it to the tall grass never knew what happened, as his throat started bubbling blood, his voice unable to make it through his lips.

The second rider heard a whisper of the tall grass moving behind him and looked over his shoulder.

A hand grabbed the top of his head and pulled back. He opened his mouth to scream and nothing came out but the gurgling blood that ran from his throat.

“Get ready over there, I see ‘em coming around that bend now,” Dawkins said softly.

“Oh hell, I don’t see that dumb-ass Injun on his horse. Hell, I reckon he fell off.”

He was laughing to himself, just as the knife slid across his throat, cutting – but not killing.

“Stand real slow Dawkins and you won’t die,” the voice came to him in a whisper, as if the wind had spoken to him.

“Who are you and what do you want? I was just resting out here off the trail.”

“You’re two friends are resting too – forever. Now stand up slow like, or you’ll die just like them,” the whispering wind spoke once more.

After a nudge of the knife in his side, Dawkins rose to his feet in the waist high grass. He stepped into the dusty trail in front of the shocked prisoner and the jubilant Duncan.

“Hot Damn, Eli. I saw you run into the brush. Hell kid, I never even had a thought you’d capture one of them. Did the others get away?” Duncan said as he slid to the ground next to him and put shackles on Dawkins.

“They’re laying back over there a ways. We’ll need to get their horses and tie them across the saddles.”

“You mean you killed them?”

“Yeah, I figured I didn’t have time to talk ‘em into givin’ up. I reckon that’s Pa’s blood in me coming out. Ma always said it would sooner or later.”

“Hot Damn, Eli. Just wait ‘til this gets out, and just wait ‘til I tell the Judge. He’ll hire you for sure now. You’re gonna be a Deputy U.S. Marshal.”

“Just wait ‘til the other Raiders hear about this. They’ll be coming for you, kid,” Dawkins spoke for the first time since they’d got to the horses.

Eli walked over to stand close, looking down at him.

“Let ‘em come on. Eli Crow’s the name, and my knife’s always sharp,” he spoke softly and the prisoner shivered in the hot, late afternoon sun, just at the sound of his voice.

“Get on that horse Dawkins or you can walk. It don’t matter to me and Eli none how you get there, but you’re going to face Judge Story,” Duncan sneered at the man.

Fayetteville, Arkansas October 21, 1874

It was mid-morning when the four riders, leading two horses with dead men across the saddles, rode into the bustling hill town of Fayetteville, in the northwest corner of Arkansas, and stopped at the courthouse steps.

The deputies on guard out front ran over to help when they saw Duncan ride up with two prisoners and a Half-Breed.

Word of the arrival of Deputy Duncan and his prisoners soon fell upon Judge Story’s ears. He recessed his court to have a look for himself.

“Duncan, I send you after one and you bring back three and two bodies, what’s this all about?” the Judge asked.

Duncan began to tell the story and after some tall tales about how it all happened and why, Judge Story looked at Eli and grinned.

“So you want to be a Deputy U.S. Marshal?”

“Yes Sir, Your Honor,” Eli remembered what Duncan told him to say and the Judge grinned real big at the tall Indian kid’s manners.

“Get these prisoners in the jail,” the Judge waved his hands at his deputies and escorted Eli and Duncan into his chambers.

“Do you, Eli Crow, swear to obey the rules and regulations set forth for the commission you are about to be appointed to and do you solemnly swear to obey and enforce the laws of the United States of America as a Deputy United States Marshal?” Judge William Story recited, standing in his chambers as he swore Eli in.

“Yes Sir, Your Honor, I do,” Eli said his left hand resting on the bible, his right hand in the air.

“By the powers vested in me by The President of The United States of America, I now pronounce you Eli Crow, Deputy United States Marshal,” Judge Story said as he pinned the big star on Eli’s chest.

“Your Honor, I feel that it would be more fitting for my position to have buckskins and a Winchester rifle to better serve you and your office out in Indian Territory. Would you see fit to advance me the necessary funds until I can earn the means to repay you?’’ Eli spoke with the eloquence his ma and pa had taught him as a kid.