Chapter 2

That's all I needed—an exciting year. Well, I had been kind of bored with my regular job back in 2011, so it looked like I was kind of getting what I had wished for. At least this job had a big plus over Iraq: there was no doubt who was the enemy, and who was trying to kill you. The best thing was no IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices).

My job with the wagon train was as a guard until we got to a town where I could get some decent boots. After I got the boots, I would also become a scout for the train. At least, I was going to be able to use all of that Marine training that had been going to waste in my civilian life.

The Marines had politely kicked me out when I had trouble with the PC (Politically Correct) rules of engagement. It seemed that I had wiped out a whole insurgent sniper nest without first calling in for permission to shoot. Five dead insurgents with no dead Marines would have been applauded under normal circumstances, but a TV crew had seen me do it and had wanted to use me as a prime example of the savagery the US Marines were showing as they wantonly attacked innocent Iraqis.

It probably would have been smoothed over, except that I slugged the TV reporter so hard that I put him in the hospital, and I destroyed the TV equipment so that the record of my exploit could not be salvaged. Publicly, I was heavily censured for my "unprovoked" attack on the TV crew, but, privately, I was thanked by my commanding officer and every one of my comrades. The word I heard was that was the last TV crew ever to visit our company. Anyway, I was persona non grata in Iraq, and was discharged as soon as I could be shipped back to the USA. I had planned to make a career of the Marines, but that was shot to hell.

I found that I fit in well with the rest of the crew of the wagon train. There were 12 drivers, four guards, a cook and his helper, and the wagon master. Most of the time, there was not much for a guard to do, so I spent a lot of my time talking to the other members of the crew. I was trying to be reasonably subtle about it, but I was busy extracting information about this new time in which I found myself. The men all were happy to have somebody new to talk to and who seemed genuinely interested in what they had to say, so I never had any trouble finding a partner for a bullshitting session as we slowly made our way through the heat of the day.

The wagons were each pulled by a team of four oxen, so we did not move very fast. About 10-12 miles a day was what we expected, so it was a long trip from El Paso to Yuma. It took about two months to make the trip, provided that we did not encounter hostile Indians, flash floods, and sand storms. I was told that it was a dead certainty that we would hit one or more of them every trip, so there was always some excitement to look forward to.

It took us four days to get to Las Cruces, so I had plenty of time to figure out what I needed from the stores, there. Mr. Jackson was going to provide me with a horse, tack, and a rifle with ammunition, but it was up to me to find what else I needed from the $50 he advanced me. Clothes were not a problem, since I had adequate pants and shirt. I found some boots that fit well enough and two pairs of socks took care of my feet. I did need a new hat, though. The one I was using was not even worth returning to the used clothes bin.

I did find a used .44-40 S&W pistol and a crossdraw holster for it. The pistol had seen little use and good care, so I was quite happy with it. Other than a few scratches, the pistol showed no wear and tear, and the barrel was not pitted. Black powder residue played hell with a gun barrel, so it had to be cleaned every day it was fired. That was usually what caused an Indian's gun to wear out so fast—nobody ever told them about the necessity for cleaning the weapon's barrel. Hell, if nothing else was available, pissing down the barrel would get you by for a day or two.

When I got back to camp, I was an example of sartorial splendor compared to what I had looked like before going into town. I had even popped for a bath, a shave, and a haircut. The whole thing cost me 35¢, so I figured that it was worth it. I was an imposing figure, not so much for my height, 5'-11" in my bare feet, but for my breadth. I was a bit taller than average at the time, but I was considerably heavier than most men. I weighed in at 210 pounds, and very damned little of it was fat. My muscles were well toned, and I was as strong as the proverbial ox. I had hair so dark that it was nearly black, and my brown eyes went well with the color. My features were more of what would later be called "rugged," but the exposure to the elements all men got at the time made me fit right in. One of my friends on the crew even teased me about being a "handsome devil" and that the saloon whores would be paying me for the visit. I'd believe that when I saw it, but I did have to smile at the compliment.

I was not an accomplished horseman. Hell, I was not even up to par with most of the men of the day, but I did know the rudiments of how to ride. Fortunately for me, I learned any physical activity readily, so I was comfortable with my horse and he with me within a few days. My job was to ride out every morning to survey the next 15 or so miles for any sort of trouble. I wasn't looking for Indians so much as I was looking for physical problems with the trail. As we got farther toward Western New Mexico Territory, there was the problem of drifting sand to contend with. Sometimes it would cover the trail up to a foot deep, and that would make life difficult for the oxen as they tried to pull the heavy wagons through the loose sand. Ideally, we rode over nothing but hard pan, but that was not really possible, so I had to find ways around the worst of the loose sand. Most of the time, I was successful enough, but occasionally we had to double up with the teams to get through an especially bad place. Of course, this cost us time, and time was something we were trying to conserve, so my work load steadily increased as we moved west.

As we moved west, the danger from Indian attack didn't change, only the Indians doing the attacking changed. West of Las Cruces, we could be attacked by Chiricahua Apaches or Navajos. It was harder to say who were the most dangerous, because either one could sneak up and put a bullet through you before you knew they were anywhere around. Another of my jobs was to watch for sign of Indians, because at this time, we had to consider all Indians except Mescalero Apaches to be hostile.

The Mescaleros worked on the principle that "the enemy of my enemy is my friend." The Mescaleros, like every other Indian nation was at war with its neighbors, and the Whites fought with Comanches, Navajos, and Chiricahuas, so the Mescaleros were friendly to Whites. The Mescaleros were also smart enough to understand that, in war, accidents can happen, so they were not too upset if a White failed to recognize them and started shooting out of panic. An apology usually was all that was needed to repair the situation; a deck of cards or a plug of tobacco usually could repair even the most serious breaches. Thus, Mescaleros remained friendly through the worst of the Indian wars.

The third day out of Las Cruces provided my first chance to show what I really could do with a good rifle. My Winchester was a rifle, not a carbine, so its range was longer and it was more accurate. I was returning from my scouting trip when I came upon the wagon train under attack from a group of Indians that I did not recognize. When I got a better look, I figured that they must be Navajo, since they did not have horses anywhere I could spot them. The Navajo disdained horses on raids such as this, feeling that the direct contact with the ground gave them some sort of magical advantage over their enemy.

They were scattered about, lying on the ground behind little irregularities in the ground and taking pot shots at the wagon train. Jackson had been able to pull the wagons into his defensive box, so the Indians were going to have to be very lucky to do any real damage, unless they shot an ox. They weren't likely to do that except by accident, so there was no point in worrying about that eventuality.