Chapter 5

On the way home, I got to thinking about whether or not I had enough firepower with just the shotgun and one revolver. I came to the conclusion that I did not. Oh, the shotgun could stand by itself, but it struck me that only eight shots in total was pushing my luck. Though my luck had always been good so far, there was no doubt that it would desert me one of these days, and I had to be ready for that to happen.

One more pistol like my Colt Navy would give me a maximum of 12 shots. Those, plus two from the shotgun, would be enough based on meeting only three or four or maybe even five enemies, but there have been occasions where there were many more attackers. I had to look into the means to improve my odds. Okay, the first thing I needed to do would be to go through the wagon to see what else was there. Even if I found another Colt Navy, I was still on shaky ground.

The day after I got home, I enlisted the two girls to help me go through the peddler’s wagon very carefully looking for what we might find to improve my chances in a firefight. By this time, there had been a lot of searches made of the wagon’s contents, and what was left was pretty well scattered around and not in any logical order. I asked the girls to look for revolvers or for parts of revolvers and to see what they could spot related to ammunition.

Like it or not, as long as I was going to circulate in the persona of a White man, there was no way that I could get away with carrying a bow or a lance. I could get away with the war club because a lot of other White men carried them as backup weapons. The knife was carried by everybody, so I could avoid concern about it.

At last, Honey Bee let out a shout of joy. She had found four more of the Colt Navy pistols in their usual kit packages of bullet mold, etc. I had Honey Bee carry those to our hut so that they would not get lost again. Okay, that was an excellent start, but I wanted to know if there were any other gems among the dross.

About 30 minutes later, Spring Flower reacted not in the same way, but with curiosity. “Stalwart Defender, look at what I have found. These things look to me like pieces of broken guns. Please take a look to see if they are worth anything.”

“Wonderful, Spring Flower, you have found a supply of extra cylinders. The idea is that those cylinders are to be loaded with powder and bullets, but not caps, and carried around to be used as quick replacements for the ammunition of an empty gun. There are six extra cylinders here, and they will go a long way in solving my problem. Please keep looking, though, you might find something else useful.”

We had gone through almost all of the storage places inside the wagon, and it was getting hot and close to lunch time. We were about to give up when I ran across a metal box that was extremely heavy. The box was locked and needed a key to allow it to be opened.

Back when I found the dead peddler, I had searched through his pockets and found a few keys, among some other things. I had put all of that stuff in a small bag and had set the bag aside when I got home. Maybe one of those keys will work to open the metal box.

Shortly after that, we were called in for lunch. I took the box with me for examination after lunch. As was customary, White Buck and I were served first. We finished eating and left the area while the women ate. During that time, I fetched the bag of stuff I had taken from the peddler. Ah, there were three keys.

I tested the keys in the lock on the metal box, and the second key turned the lock. I was not very familiar with this sort of thing, so I nearly dropped the box when the lid flipped open. Oh, my God, the box was full of money! There were gold, silver, and copper coins nearly to the point of running over the lip of the box. Injuns do not normally deal with money, so it was up to me to count the hoard.

I was very rusty at counting anything beyond 10, but I did remember the relative value of each type of coin. It took me the rest of the afternoon to count the money because there was so much there that I did not believe it the first two times I went through the count. There were even two gold bars marked as being worth $100 each! According to my count, there was $943.72 in the box. That was a veritable fortune. I remember hearing somebody in the wagon train saying that a family could live for a year on $60 if they were careful!

I explained to everyone in the family what this much money meant. I was particularly concerned if the word got out that we had so much money. If it did, we would be in constant danger from thieves. Whites would murder for $25, so I emphasized that we had to keep this fortune a family secret and not let the word out of this house. I believed that I got through to everybody, so I relaxed a little bit.

I asked White Buck what we should do to protect this fortune, and he suggested that we leave it in the locked metal box and bury it in a small hole inside our hut. That way we could get to it if we really needed to, but we could just let it sit until then. Nobody had a better idea, so that was what we did. Our mothers hid the key so that only they knew where it was. It would be possible to break open the box if the situation ever came up, but I did not expect that ever to be important.

Okay, once that matter was settled, I thought about what to do about the guns. I could not come up with a better idea, so I asked the girls to make me three more holsters like the one they made for me just over a year ago. I was going to wear four pistols in holsters. That would come to about 10 pounds of metal hanging off my belt. I was going to give that a try, and, if that did not work, I would try to come up with another idea.

It turned out that making the holsters was not as much of a problem as the first one had been because they had the first holster to use as a pattern. All three new holsters were finished in four days. I tried them on my belt with four loaded revolvers in place. Dammit, that much weight pulled my pants down!

We solved that problem by making me some suspenders so that the weight was shifted to my shoulders. The belt was just to keep the guns in a constant relative position. I could live with the weight, but it was not very comfortable. I hoped that I could get used to the guns in a short time.

I complained about the situation, but I did not get much sympathy. White Buck laughed and said that life was often that way. Oh, God, I hoped not!

The next week I set out for Comancheria for another three-day scouting trip. I was following a different route from what I usually ran. White Buck had some new places he wanted to check on. I did not care where I went. I was just happy to be out and about. This section of Comancheria was even rougher than what I had been used to seeing. There were a lot of deep arroyos and steep cliffs with a lot of spectacular scenery. Of course, that was a problem. It seemed like my vision was constantly blocked by one low “mountain” or another.

I was riding through a deep cleft in one of the small mountains when I heard gunshots. I knew that the Comanches did not have guns, so this had to be the US Army or a bunch of White civilians. Either way, it sounded like they could use my help. I sped up in hope of arriving on the scene soon enough to do some good. It sounded to me like a good opportunity to get rid of some more of the hated Comanches.

I came around a bend and saw 10 Dragoons being besieged by approximately 30 Comanches. The situation was that the ground was so rough that the Comanches could not charge the soldiers. It was unusual in my experience that the Comanches were using bows instead of lances. The soldiers were well protected by large chunks of rock and the Comanches were well protected by large chunks of rock. In other words, it was a standoff. The loser was going to be the one who ran out of ammunition first.

There was a lot of shooting of bullets and arrows, but neither side was being hit. I just hoped that the Dragoons were not using up their ammunition too fast. Frankly, I wondered where the Comanches were getting all those arrows. Usually, a warrior carried no more than about 20 arrows, but the Comanches were shooting in the arrows so fast that they must be going through them at the rate of three or four arrows a minute. What was going on?

I dismounted and took my shotgun, pemmican, and water. I worked my way behind the Comanches and practically tripped over the answer to my question. There was a wagon loaded with the arrows that runners were carrying to the warriors doing the shooting. Standing near the wagon were five Mexican soldiers and two Mexican officers. Dammit, this was a setup job with the Mexicans supporting the Comanches.

The Mexican-American War had not been over very long, and the Mexicans were still pissed off at how much of their territory had been lost in the war with Texas and then with the US. I wondered if this was a test to see if the Comanches could beat the US Army if they had the support of Mexico. That meant that the war could resume in fact, though it would seem to the American government and the public as just more of the unending Indian wars.

Okay, let us see what I could do to break this up. The range was really too long for my shotgun to accomplish much, but my pistols would be a different story if I could get about 20-25 yards closer. I slung my shotgun over my back so that my hands would be free for climbing and general maneuvering. I could not move very fast, but I did push it as fast as I could. I finally got close enough just as the current wagon was being emptied and another wagon was about to move in.

I used both hands to steady the pistol and I leaned it against a rock to add as much more stability as I could get. I cocked the hammer and aimed at the driver of the wagon moving in. I did not want to shoot the innocent horses if I could avoid it, but it might come to that if I could not pick off the humans who were running the operation.

The range was close to 100 yards, and that was really pushing the capability of my revolver. The accuracy was very questionable at this range, but I did not think that I had much choice. I lined up on the driver as best I could and fired. Oh, thank my lucky stars, I hit the driver in the middle of his chest with the bullet. Surely, I must have hit his breastbone, and I think that I hit his heart judging from the minimum amount of blood that I could see on his shirt.