Chapter 6

“Take back the herd, just the two of us? There must be twenty five or thirty of them!” Billy exclaimed.

“Nah! There won’t be near that many by the time you catch up to me! Ever see what a man who knows how to use it can do with a Sharps? They won’t like what’s going to happen to them. Not at all! And tell the girls to stay in the canyon.”

We both mounted up and took off in opposite directions. About fifteen minutes later I came upon the camp, and found Jimmy’s body. I wrapped him in some blankets and dug a grave just deep enough to keep varmits out. I placed a saddle on top as a marker so we can dig him back up later and lay him to rest in the canyon. I found some hardtack and jerked beef in his saddlebags, along with a couple of almost full canteens, and some more ammunition. I found his, or Amos’ Winchester laying on the ground so I brought that along also. Then we rode north following the trampled earth and grass that was a fresh indication of the direction those bastards had taken. It shouldn’t take too long to catch up with them.

About an hour and a half later I could hear my cattle lowing. It’s kind of a mournful sound, I felt that it was appropriate. I rode to the west almost a mile then turned north again, riding a little faster. After forty five minutes I slowed and turned to the east for about half a mile. This should put me in front and about a half mile from their line of travel. Unless they have changed direction, that is. It also gave me the sun at my back, they would be highlighted, making them very good targets. I don’t have to worry about reflections off of my scope giving my location away. I rode to the top of the nearest hill and ground tied Sam, basically I dropped the reins and told him to stay. I gathered some sandie dirt into my bag I used as a barrel rest. Keepin mostly on the far side of the hill from where they would be coming. Setting a box of twenty cartridges next to me, I focused on the top of the hill opposite me. It was about three quarters of a mile away. The wind was out of the south and was moderate to light. I was shooting slightly west of south, the wind might degrade the flight of the bullet somewhat. I made adjustments in the scope for that.

Twenty minutes later the first of the cattle along with two of the rustlers, one on each side of the herd, came over the top of the hill. Slowly more and more cattle and a few more men started down from the top of the hill. Why so few men? Then it hit me. They were probably doing the same thing I did when traveling, if half of them could drive the herd the rest could split up and be outriders and could be coming up behind me any time now! I quickly gathered my stuff, jumped on Sam and rode north after a mile of staying off the tops of hills and keeping mostly in the valley. I found a good high hill and settled into my shooting position. Not even five minutes later a group of six riders rode over the top of a hill half mile away. Had I stayed where I had been they would have gotten me. I watched as they rode down the hill and met a group of another six riders coming from the east. They stopped to palather, I was looking through the scope when three riders lined up. I’m not going to miss an opportunity like that. Adjusting for all the variables I gently pulled the first trigger, then the second, as usual the firing was a surprise. This close, the bullet only took two seconds to travel, hitting the first guy in the head, the second in the throat and the third in the chest. All three were permanently out of the fight. By that time the second round was on its way toward a pair that lined up. They obligingly stayed in the same position, and with the same result. I shot once more, taking out another one. Then I gathered up my gear, jumped on Sam and rode down the hill and around another certain that the other six would be in pursuit. I had noticed that one of the survivors was an Indian, that most likely meant that he could track. He would have to be my next target. I didn’t run far, around the end of a hill then up to the top and set up my ambush. They were bunched up coming down the hill, running their horses as fast as they could go. I hate killing horses, I really do. But this was just too good. Aiming at the head of the lead horse I fired. That horse fell dead in the path of three other horses, they couldn’t avoid hitting each other and the lead dead horse. Before the other two riders could react I was able to take them out too. Just them, I spared the horses. I carefully approached the carnage ready to react to any threat. Two horses were still living but in pain, I relieved them of it. All six men were dead, broken necks being the leading cause.

I searched pockets and saddlebags for valuables. Weapons were gathered and evaluated, smashing the stocks of worthless rifles, keeping the rest. I saw a group of cottonwoods down by a stream. Taking the good weapons there I found a hiding place for them. It was getting close to evening, I gathered up the horses that survived and rode back toward the herd.

They had bedded the herd down in a small valley with a stream for water and plenty of grass. Three men were riding slowly around, one of them singing, keeping the herd calm. The rest of them were upstream of the herd, they were fixing supper from my chuck wagon. They had a nice fire going. Somebody could cook, the beans smelled good. As I watched I counted, there were twelve in camp plus the cook and the three riding the herd. That’s sixteen total, but I noticed that several of the rustlers were giving the cook a hard time. The food smelled too good to be bothering him, does that mean he’s not one of them? I watched for a while, waiting for three new riders to relieve those that were out there now. Finally about twelve o’clock three men in camp started outfitting their horses. Wearing my moccasins, I crept up on the closet one, my Bowie knife found his throat, he died silently as I helped him to the ground. I put on his hat then hid his body, mounting his horse, hunched over because he hadn’t been very big. Joining the other two but keeping separate we relieved the other three. As we rode I slowed down and let the closest rider catch up, like I wanted to talk for a second. He too died silently, keeping him on his horse. I led it to the stream and tied it to a cottonwood branch. I was waiting in the shadows of the trees for the other cowboy to arrive. I was off of my horse (not Sam) when he rode up and asked what was going on, I mumbled that I was taking a piss. When he couldn’t understand me he leaned down and joined his brethren in the afterlife, hopefully a very hot uncomfortable place.

I stealthily crept back to the camp. The only guard was staring into the fire, I kept his body in line with the fire so it couldn’t affect my night vision. He didn’t have any, he couldn’t hear either, Mr. Bowie did his job again, I carefully moved him to the stream. I quickly went around the camp making their sleep the permanent kind. I know, pretty cold hearted, but I would rather die in my sleep than hang while awake. They were going to end up in the same place anyway. That led me to the man sleeping under the chuck wagon, I noticed he was tied up so I nudged him with my foot.

He turned his head and whispered “Who the hell are you?”

“I own every one of those cows down there. What is more important is who the hell you are. Are you one of these rustlers?”

“Oh hell yes, I have my partners tie me up every fucking night so I can get to sleep! You must have shit for brains boy! Untie me!”

“Well that’s not the right way to talk to the man who pays your wages! I’ve a mind to just leave you as you are, and add a rag to your filthy mouth to boot!”

“Hey, aren’t you worried about these outlaws hearing you?”

“Nope, the only worry they are doing is which house their souls will end up in. My bet is the lower one.”

“I didn’t hear anything!”

“I’m quiet when I need to be!”

I cut him loose and retrieved Sam and the other horses. Then rode herd on the cattle until dawn. I talked to the cook whose name is Rufus Boggs, a former slave on a plantation in Georgia. He was educated and could read, write, and do his math.

As he cooked I asked “Did these guys talk about what they were going to do with all these bovines?”

“They talked a lot in front of me, I figured I was going to get permanently retired before we reached the fort.”

“The fort? Which fort?”

“Fort Riley, it’s north of Junction City and has been there since”53 “. They are paying top dollar for beef on the hoof so they can ship them up to the other Forts to the north and west. A man by the name of Black Bart is the big boss man.”

“Not anymore, Bart beat them to their final destination by two weeks. But why were they headed almost due north? If it’s north of Junction City it would be northwest of here.”

“For two reasons, one there is a very good ford in the river, shallow with a solid rock bottom, second they figure word will be out about the theft, they were going to change the brands, then come from the east to lay off any suspicions.”

“Do you know of any cowboys who could help with the herd? I want to separate them, and send the best ones back to Canyon Hills and take the rest to Fort Riley.”

“I do know some very good cowboys that can’t find jobs up here and there aren’t any back in Texas either. The only thing is, they’re all black!” “Rufus, I don’t give a damn what color they are, as long as they can do the work they’ll make the same amount of pay as any other man. How many men, and when can you get them here?”

“There’s fifteen of them about a day’s ride from here, but some of them have families. Can they come too?”

I gave him the saddlebags I had collected from the dead earlier. It totaled $163.40. We went through the personals of the dead in camp, including the ones that had been riding the herd on night watch. That brought the total to $485.20.

“How long will it take to get them all back here? I don’t know where they could spend it, but use this money to help them however they need it.”

“Give us three days, we should be able to make it by then. If not I’ll come back and tell you why it’s taking longer.”

“Sounds good, I’m expecting Billy any time now, we’ll stay here and start sorting the herd until you get back here. Get going and I’ll see you soon.”

I handed him the reins to a nice looking gelding that I had outfitted with the best saddle and bridle of the bunch. They must have belonged to the ramrod of the gang, the matching saddlebags had yielded $150 of the money collected. I gave him those and he transferred the money into it and then gathered up some food and clothing. I found a handgun and holster that were like new along with a Winchester rifle.

“You had better take these too! Better to have them if you need them, than to need them and not have them!”

He buckled the holster and placed the rifle in the scabbard, tied the saddlebags on. Then he mounted, waved goodbye and took off.

It would be a lie if I were to say I didn’t think about Rufus just absconding with the horse and money, a man could live for a long time with that much money. But I liked the man, I figured I would be seeing him in three days.

Checking the cattle I found that they were drifting a little but for the most part we’re staying close to one another. They were just seeking fresh grass.

I gathered all of the weapons found on the bodies, knives, handguns, and some holdout guns. Ammunition was piled together by type, holsters, clothing, shaving kits, boots, belts, and hats were gathered together. Maybe some of the people Rufus was bringing could use them. If not, I’m sure someone else could. The better things could be sold. I thought then that I should document what had happened here, and find out who these outlaws were. So I made a travois and collected all of the bodies in one place, with good light and each laying on a slope that would allow faces to be clearly visible. Maybe some of them had a bounty on them.

I had just gathered the horses when Bobby rode up, and behind him were my girls in the wagon. As I began setting up my camera and light diffusers, the girls started picking out horses, then tack, so they could become cowgirls and help manage the herd.

At lunch I told them about Rufus and that he went to get some help from some black cowboys he knew about. I asked bluntly if anyone was going to have a problem with that. No one did.

After lunch I began taking photographs of the dead, gastley as it was, I was thankful that no one had invented color photography. I then developed and produced the glass photographs. The bodies were placed in a ravine three miles away and left to rot, or be scavenged.

We then started culling the herd, teaching the girls how to sit a quarter horse. The horse does almost all the work once you show what animal you want separated from the herd. The rider has to be able to stay in the saddle as the horse makes quick and sometimes violent movements in order to accomplish that task. They practiced until they became used to it. We were still at it, when two days later a group of wagons and people on horseback rode into camp. Rufus was leading them. There were four wagons that I thought would have made better firewood than wagons. On each was a man driving and a woman seated beside him, children from babies held by the mother to twelve years old were gawking at us from under the bench seat, or behind Mama’s shoulders. All together there were twelve or so youngsters, the canyon was about to get lively.

Everyone pitched in and we helped them set up camp. The cowboys could pick a horse and get a saddle and tack from the piles, hats, boots and weapons were shared as well. We had a very happy group of people, they had plenty of food, and perhaps more importantly a new sense of pride. They had jobs, new clothes, new (to them) tack and saddles, a spare horse even. Their families were going to a safe place. They had been starving, now they had plenty and might have a secure future. Seeking out Rufus we conspired to have a celebration that night. A pit was dug, a steer slaughtered and spitted and was soon being slow cooked over the hot coals of a fire. Potato salad was made, bread baked and other vegetables prepared. That evening we had a feast. We learned everyone’s names and some of their stories.

The stories were different in many ways, but the core of all of them was the same. All the adults and a couple of the older kids had been born as slaves. Their parents had been slaves. They had known nothing else, most were uneducated and had been field hands, two of the women had been maids. One had been the master’s bedroom slave. After being emancipated at the end of the war, they no longer were wanted, they had no skills and no one, not even the northern abolitionist wanted them in their towns. They went west, mostly walking but finding discarded wagons, old worn out horses or mules. They would find odd jobs here and there, but were always encouraged to move on. They had hoped and prayed that Kansas, Bloody Kansas where abolitionists fought the pro slavery people and people had died to make it a free state. Kansas would be different, but it wasn’t, one of the older men had been caught and slowly hanged by a faction of the KuKlux Klan. A twelve year old girl was brutally raped and killed by five white men. Yes it was still Bloody Kansas for black people! They had been camped for three months at the location Rufus found them. He knew about them from stories told about them mostly by white men. He had stretched the truth when he called them cowboys, but we would teach them. Most of the money had gone into purchasing some good horses and low quality tack.

The next morning we began training our soon to be cowboys, I let Billy do most of the training, as a cowboy I’m an excellent photographer. Billy was hesitant at first, he had never been around black people before. But he, and they, soon realized that they weren’t really that different at all, soon friendships developed and everyone benefited. It took another week to get most of the strays then we finished separating the herd. Five hundred sixty five were to go to Fort Riley. The remaining five hundred thirty were to go back to Canyon Hills Ranch. While we were dividing them we checked to make absolutely sure that they had a Canyon Hills Ranch brand. Those that had no brand were branded, those that had a different brand were driven off.

We divided the cowboys, all of those with families and the cowboys that had less aptitude for the job. Went with Billy back to the ranch. The girls wanted to come with me, so Rufus as cook and the rest of the cowboys came with me as we slowly drove the cattle north to the ford on the Kansas river southwest of the town of Manhattan. We didn’t have any problems, the ford was as advertised, shallow with a solid rock bottom. We turned west toward the fort.

Evidently word had gotten out that a herd was headed for Fort Riley and all the drovers were black (I refuse to use the “N” word). And being black, the cattle would be practically free for the taking. They assumed that these black cowboys would be poorly armed, and wouldn’t be able to hit the side of a barn if they shot at you. But they had excellent weapons, and I taught all twelve of them how to shoot and we practiced and practiced some more, until all of them could hit the target ten times out of ten shots with a rifle and with a handgun. They were particularly driven when I explained that most likely they would be shooting at white outlaws.

So when a group of men attacked our camp one morning they were the ones who were surprised when not only black men were killing them but white women. All eight potential rustlers died. We collected $75.75 in cash, eight horses, saddles and tack, eight rifles, and ten revolvers. Everything except the cash were in various conditions. No one on our side was injured.

As we slowly moved toward the fort we had three more attempts at stealing our cattle. Each one failed, all of the outlaws died. I took their pictures, faces clearly visible. I also took photographs of the entire group of cowboys and cowgirls, making sure that each person was identified by their full name. We arrived at Fort Riley late morning two weeks after we left the camp where we first met.

At the gates to the fort, I met with Major Bernard S. Newman. I showed him the cattle which were in good shape, healthy and well fed. He agreed to a price of $30 a head, but he would not let my cowboys inside the fort. For $15,000 I didn’t care. Now we need to get to Junction City and my bank with the money. This was only ten miles, which would take us under two hours, but everyone who could do the math would know how much money we would be carrying. It was a small fortune to people who were on average making under $3,300 a year. Even honest people might think twice about the opportunity.

We left quickly, after having a conference about the dangers and formed a plan. Moving as fast as possible was the key. So we followed the plan. Half the men would be outriders staying a half to quarter mile from the wagon. The money was in my safe which is hidden inside the box. We started out of town, gradually increasing speed to a pace just under a trot. Bert and Ernie could keep this up all day, so if needed, they could go faster. The girls were in the back rifles and shotguns ready, cotton stuffed in their ears. A tree fell across the road before we had gone a mile, our escort rider’s immediately left the road to the left and right circling out in front to trap the would-be robbers, the outriders would come in at the sound of the first gunshot.