Chapter 3

When the wagon stopped, AJ and Frank Jr. climbed out again. AJ walked to the head of the team and looked up and down the creek. Like many he'd seen before there was only a rivulet of flowing water in the middle of a wide mostly flat bed, caused by a hundred years of flash floods. He walked out onto the flat beside the small stream. It wasn't terribly soft, but the wagon would leave ruts in it. Still, he thought it could be done. He'd have to scout things out upstream, to make sure they could get back out of the creek bed.

He told the woman to stay put and then scouted at a trot, trying not to think about the pain his jolting gait caused in his arm. The heels of his boots sank in deeper in some places than others, but he still thought the wagon could make it. The trees thinned a bit upstream and he found a place where, if the oxen could be urged to a trot, the wagon might be pulled back up onto the prairie.

On his way back to the wagon AJ reflected on how it all depended on time. It would take them half a day to get the wagon upstream and wipe out the tracks. They might get caught by a posse while doing it. But if they just went ahead, that same posse would find them just as easily.

By the time he got back to the three family members, standing forlornly by the wagon, he had decided that it was better to go down fighting than just lie down and give up.

They were all drenched with sweat when the wagon creaked over the last hillock onto flat ground. Frank Jr., being the lightest, stayed on the seat and handled the reins while the other three gripped wheel spokes and strained, helping wheels to turn in sand as the oxen also strained to pull the heavy load, their hooves churning the soft ground.

All three sank to sit on crushed prairie grass, panting, drops of salty liquid dripping from their noses and chins. The women looked like they had gone in swimming, fully dressed. AJ's eyes picked out bumps on Arabella's bosom that he knew were nipples under the thin dress, but he was too tired to think about it.

Frank Jr., of course, was filled with excitement, and full of energy as he jumped down from the wagon seat.

AJ groaned and stood, telling Frank Jr. to follow him. He took his bowie knife from the scabbard on his right hip and hacked off two leafy tree limbs, handing one of them to the boy. Then he showed him how to scuff up the wheel ruts with his feet and sweep the bough across them to soften their look.

By the time they'd reached the road, Frank wasn't so cheery any more. He had blisters on his hands from handling the limb, and was just as hot and dusty as all the others.

AJ looked at the results of their efforts from the road and sighed. It was a hasty job. Anybody who looked twice would know what had happened, but it was the best they could do. His last act was to walk to the same side of the creek as the wagon was now on, wiping out their boot prints. Then he and Frank Jr. picked their way carefully through the trees for a few dozen yards.

They abandoned their branches and then walked tiredly back to the wagon.

Jeremiah Stone dismounted at the small wooden structure, obviously newly built, that had a painted sign above the door that simply said "JAIL." He went inside, stomping his boots and making ineffectual swipes at the dust on his pants legs. The office was empty of humanity, as were the two cells built into the back wall. They appeared to have been built out of flat iron, probably used wagon tires, riveted together by the blacksmith who supplied them. There were a few posters on one wall, and a rifle rack. The desk had originally been some kind of shipping crate that had been altered to serve its current use.

He returned to the street and looked around. Abilene was booming. The stink of cows permeated the air, and their lowing could be heard in the distance, where Stone knew the rail head was. People were hustling this way and that on the main street, a few dozen yards from the new jail, which had been built on the current edge of town.

It took him half an hour to find Sheriff Dan Cross, who appeared to be jawing with the storekeeper of the Manelly Dry Goods Emporium. After introductions were made, Stone followed Cross back to the jail. On the way he learned that the bodies had, indeed, been buried. Cross produced photographs. The missing toe in one of them convinced Stone that the notorious Fisby brothers' days of mayhem were, in fact, a thing of the past.

He got the story of the incident then. During the narrative, Stone learned that three witnesses had said that one of the three Fisbys had drawn first, though they didn't agree on which one. The only thing everybody agreed on was that the Fisbys had indeed been cheating, and that the cowboy was the fastest gun any of them had ever seen, with deadly aim to boot. That was evident to both lawmen, even without witnesses. One man had taken down three very bad men, firing a total of four shots. And while he was doing it, all three had drawn their guns. That the mystery man had fired four times, while the men who drew first only got off two made it clear the winner was very fast indeed.

Cross related that he had found the trail boss the cowboy had come up the trail with, but had gotten only "AJ" as the hero's name. The description the trail boss gave matched that of the witnesses, including the cross draw holster rig. That wasn't all that common.

"So we're not talking about murder here," said Stone.

"Not unless you count the farmer, and his murderer is already dead," replied Cross. "For all practical purposes three wanted men were brought down, and one bystander got in the way." He squinted at the Marshal. "So is there really a reward for the Fisbys?"

Stone simply nodded.

"Good luck finding that AJ feller," drawled Cross. "He lit out of here like he was trying to make Mexico in one day."

"Anybody go after him?"

"Why would we? All he did was expose them for what they were and then rid the world of them. It was self defense, pure and simple."

"What about the family?"

"The only person who wanted them was the undertaker, so's he could charge them for the burial," said Cross. "As near as I can tell from what the witnesses said, they don't have no money anyway, other than what the woman snatched off the table after her man was killed. Did I tell you he threw his daughter into the pot?"

"You did," said the Marshal.

"Sometimes I wonder what this world is coming to," sighed Cross.

"Hard times make hard people." Stone shrugged.

"Well, considering that her husband was cheated and killed, I can't fault her for what she did. They lit out too. Same direction as the cowboy ... south." Cross tilted his head sideways and a speculative look came into his eyes. "So what happens to the reward now?"

Stone shrugged again. "I'll put out the word about this AJ fellow. If anybody runs across him, he'll get the money. If not, I guess it will sit there until some judge decides what to do with it. I suspicion it will just stay in the pot and end up being paid out for some other misfit."

Cross sighed.

"Figured it would be something like that."

Within a mile of striking off through thick grass that came up to the seat of the wagon, they rolled onto an area where the grass was flattened in a wide swath for as far as the eye could see. Bella stopped the wagon. They'd all ridden for an hour, recuperating from their half day's labor. Cutting through the prairie grass had been a bumpy, slow process, but the ground looked much smoother ahead.

Frank Jr. watered the oxen again, while AJ looked around.

"This is the Chisholm trail!" he observed. "I just brought a herd of beeves across here."

"So that's why it's all trampled down," said Bella.

"Yes, Ma'am," said AJ. "This trail leads right back down to Texas."

"We're not going to Texas," said Bella.

"Well there's a fair piece of Kansas and all of Oklahoma Territory in between," said AJ. "But the going will be a lot easier if we stay on this trail for a while. There's some pretty country up ahead. It's a lot greener than further south." He looked at the woman. "Where were you headed?"

"Frank had some information about homesteading on the plains," she said. "He didn't tell me much more than that. He seemed to know where we were headed."

"Most of Kansas is still Indian country," said AJ, frowning. "I haven't heard of any land being opened up for settlers west of here."

"As I said, I know only what Frank saw fit to tell me," said the woman. She leaned over and scooped up a handful of dirt, loosened by thousands of hooves. "The soil looks good."

"Don't know much about farming," muttered AJ. He'd never wanted to think about farming once he'd left his parents farm, and he didn't want this woman to know that he had any knowledge of growing things at all. He much preferred the active life of handing cattle.

"Well, I suppose we should go on," said Bella. "Though, to be honest, I don't know what to look for, as far as good land."

She told the children to walk. Now that they'd had a chance to rest it was the team's turn to have less weight to pull. She told AJ to get up on the wagon seat.

"I can walk, Ma'am," he said. He just naturally looked over at his horse, which he'd rather be riding. The animal seemed to be doing fine. Without the weight of a rider, it was putting a little weight on the hoof the shoe had come off of. He'd thought about putting it down, but couldn't bring himself to do it for just a thrown shoe. If it kept following them, they'd eventually find a farrier and the horse would be fine after that. Assuming it didn't go completely lame in the meantime. If that happened, he knew he'd have to kill again.

And, as things had turned out, he suddenly had no interest in killing anything other than, perhaps, dinner.

"You broke open your wound getting the wagon to this trail," said Arabella. "You'll ride. I've no desire to stop moving again to bury you."

Marshal Stone had to wait as a double column of cavalry rode out before he kneed his horse through the gates of the tall stockade. He didn't glance up at the hand carved sign that said "FORT BENNETT RILEY." There was no sentry on duty at that time of day, though the fort was bustling with activity that far exceeded what had been there the last time Stone had happened by the outpost. Established fifteen years earlier, to protect settlers using the Santa Fe and Oregon trails on their movement westward, the fort looked like it had been there for decades.

Stone had decided to let the commanding officer know about the Fisbys. Not that the Army spent much time looking for outlaws. That wasn't their job. But on those rare occasions where someone needed help, nobody was too picky about whether those chasing an outlaw wore a badge or just stripes on his sleeves.

He tied his horse to the hitching post outside the headquarters building which was made of limestone blocks. There were other stone buildings scattered around as well. Lt. Colonel George Custer had lived in one of them, before he took the 7th Cavalry out to fight the Cheyenne. At this point in time, Custer was only famous for having gone AWOL to see his wife after that battle, and being tried by court martial for it. He was, in fact, in New York City, halfway through a one year suspension, though Stone wasn't aware of that.

The Marshal entered the headquarters building with his badge clearly visible on his vest and told a Corporal that he'd like a few minutes with the commanding officer, who he knew to be Colonel Frederick Cotton. He'd met the man once before.

He was ushered in immediately and shook hands with the short, stout man, whose face was dark red and lined, a sure sign that he spent much of his time outside this building.

"What brings you to see the Army, Marshal?" asked Cotton.

"I have some news," said Stone.

He relayed the information about the incident giving the description of the mysterious "AJ" and the fact that, if found, he could be notified that he was due a reward.

"His behavior suggests he thinks he is in trouble," said Stone, "so he may be hiding out. It's possible that your men, in their normal duties, might chance upon him."

"Hmmm," mused Cotton. "If he decided to hide out to the west, he may be bones when we find him. The Comanche, among others, are kicking up their heels. We've just mustered the 19th Kansas Cavalry here at Riley, as a matter of fact. The traffic on the Santa Fe trail is starting to slack off, due to the railroad pushing west, but we still have our hands full with those who can't afford the train."

Stone mentioned the settler family then, who survived the dead farmer.

"South out of Abilene, you say?" muttered Cotton. "She may be headed for the Santa Fe. It crosses some miles south of there. And a lone wagon, you say?"

"It appears that way," said Stone.

"Foolish!" barked the Colonel. "These people just don't understand what they're getting into."

"Well," said Stone, "I just thought you should know about something that happened in your area of operations."

"Normally I wouldn't do anything about all this, Marshal, but I have several troops of raw recruits who need time in the saddle to sharpen their skills. I'll send a troop out that way. They can have a look see around while they learn how to find their way around the trackless prairie and toughen up their backsides!" He laughed. "If we find your young hero we'll set him straight. Who knows? Maybe we'll sign him up. After taking on all three Fisby brothers I'm sure a group of howling savages would present no challenge to him." He laughed again.

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