The fat would help to keep us warm in the colder weather we were encountering in the high ups. It got so the horse, and mule were having a time of it, and we had to stop to rest them more often. They weren’t used to the high altitude. As for that, neither were we.
I was getting to be a fair shot with the pistol by the time we reached Fort Bridger in the Wyoming territory. The Fort was a massive log affair with the outer court yard surrounded by poles up ended in the ground. Some of the building served as walls. The Army welcomed whites, and tolerated some of the Indians who came to trade. We camped outside the fort, and a lieutenant came out to see us with a small group of four soldiers.
“Howdy.” The lieutenant said, as they rode up. The rest of the men touched the brim of their hats. They were a hard looking lot.
“Howdy yourself, step down for some coffee if you are a mind.”
“No, we don’t have the time, where do you men hail from, if I may ask?”
“You may, I am from the Clinch Mountains of Tennessee, and this young man is fresh off the banks of the Mississippi river. My name is Jason Allen, and this is Rafe Weston.”
“I am Lieutenant Ryan. Welcome to Wyoming territory, we need good men if you’ll be staying.”
“We aim to work for our keep lieutenant, my uncle Edward said they were starting cattle up this way.”
“Young man, the only cattle I know of is near Cheyenne, a fellow by the name of Reed has, or had, about a hundred fifty head on the Chugwater. You take the Cheyenne trail east about a weeks ride, then go north from Cheyenne to the Chugwater. If you don’t get scalped, tell them Lieutenant Ryan sent you. I’ve helped them with injuns a time or two, and that might get your foot in the door.”
“Much obliged Lieutenant; I reckon we’ll be heading out tomorrow then.”
The group wheeled their horses and headed back to the fort. We lazed the day away at camp intending to rest up for another long ride ahead. We left the next morning for Cheyenne and then north to the Chugwater. We were on the Cheyenne trail two days and were camped in some trees off the trail when three men rode up to our camp, “Hello the camp!” One of the men called.
“Come on in!” I called back.
“Rafe”, I whispered, “Keep your rifle handy.”
“Got it.” Rafe said as he reached for his rifle, and laid it across his knee facing the fire.
The men rode slowly up to the camp, “Get down and sit a spell, we ain’t got nothing but willow bark tea, as we drank the last of our coffee yesterday.”
“That’ll do, we ain’t had coffee in a month of Sundays anyhow.” The man grinned, showing a broken tobacco stained tooth. He had a coat fashioned out of a buffalo hide, with a wolfs head pelt hat on his head. The other two had rags tied around their noggins for hats. I tell you they set up to be as rough looking lot as I have ever laid eyes on. I could tell all three of the men were dirty, and unkempt.
I got some cups from our pack, and handed them each a cup of the tea. The man with the wolfs head seemed to be doing all the talking as his eyes roved over us, the packs, and the stock.
“Where you young fellers headed off too?” Wolfs head said, as he shifted his cud to the other side of his bearded jaw. The three sat with their rifles up, and the butts on the ground.
“We are for Cheyenne, and the Chugwater.”
“We just come from there, and there ain’t nothing left of the Chugwater station, it was attacked, and looted.”
“Who attacked it, and who looted it?” I asked. I had me a real bad feeling about these three.
“Could a been injuns, couldn’t it Fred?” He rolled his eyes over to the fellow beside him.
“Yep…coulda been.” He said it with a leering sort of grin, and I knew he was lying through his teeth. I got up and got a stick of wood for the fire without sitting back down. Wolfs head looks up at me, “Would you be of a mind to sell that horse and mule you got yonder?”
“No, we are of a mind to keep our riding stock.”
“Then I reckon we’ll just have to take them!” Wolfs head began to bring his rifle to bear on me.
My hand worked as if it had a mind of its own, and the Navy Colt bellowed fire and smoke as I pulled the trigger. Three holes appeared in the mans chest. He dropped the rifle and clawed at his chest. Rafe shot the man next to him, and the other one began crawling backwards away from the fire, “Don’t shoot me mister, I didn’t have no part in it, hell I didn’t even know he was going to do that!”
“Well, get on that wore out nag of yours and git! Before I forget how to be human! Now go on…git! And take those other horses with you, we don’t have extra feed!”
“Yes sir…uh…yes sir, I’m a goin’”
The man lit out of there like his tail was afire, leading the two horses. My hands were shaking, and I was mad clear through. “Lets get the stock up Rafe, and get out of here.”
“What are we going to do with these two?”
“Leave them for the Buzzards. I’m right tired of outlaws coming up on me insisting on being shot dead.” I tell you I was some upset when we un-hobbled the horse and mule.
We tied the pack on the pack mule, and high tailed it out of there.
“You sure shot him quick Jason, I never seen the like.”
“I don’t want to talk about it Rafe.”
“Now don’t you go blaming yourself Jason. Them outlaws wouldn’t allow nothing else.”
“No, but I don’t like man killing, and I said I don’t want to talk about it Rafe, you hear me?”
“Yeah, I hear you Jason…still…some men need killing though, and if we don’t make justice, who will?” Rafe wasn’t one to shut up until he was done talking.
I glared at the boy, but he had a point I had to admit. If we didn’t make justice who would? It got me thinking; here we were on the frontier. Folk had to stand on their own legs out here. There weren’t no police to call on, or court houses to settle a disagreement. It was a young nation being born, and it was suffering the throes of birth.
“I shouldn’t have left those men lay back there Rafe. They had a brother or a father or mother back east somewhere most likely. I should have buried’em.”
“Well they took the wrong way, a robbin’ and killin’ folk for their truck. Tell you what Jason, the next man you shoot, I’ll bury him for you.”
I glared at him again, and he just smiled at me. I knew he didn’t mean anything by it, “You said you was all twisted up, how come you ain’t an outlaw Rafe?”
“I meant I’m all twisted up in my feelin’, I don’t get no joy out of man killing neither and I know how you feel Jason. Its almighty bothersome to see you suffer on account of some no account coon. It just bothers me to no end Jason.”
“I reckon we are getting to be more like brothers Rafe.”
“Yep…reckon so. Step out there horse.” He kicked the horse, and trotted on ahead. I looked back toward our back trail, and thought about the men, dead before their time on the cold ground of Wyoming territory, and knew in my heart they wouldn’t be the last.
Another week and we rode into the town of Cheyenne. There was bustle everywhere, log stores on each side of the street with more going up. I saw two extended wagons hauling logs down the muddy street. Freight wagons were parked out on the edge of town with canvas covered loads waiting to be unloaded. Cheyenne was beginning to shape up and settle in for the long haul. It wouldn’t be long until there would be a thriving city.
We rode up to the saloon, and although neither one of us were drinkers, on the frontier that was the place where men met to get news about just anything a man might want to know. The bar owner served coffee for ten cents a cup. It had been long since we had us a cup of coffee. “We are for the Chugwater, I heard they had cattle to run.”
“Yep, Fellow by the name of Reed set up to ranch out there; last I heard he had about a hundred head.”
“I talked to an Army officer at Fort Bridger, said he had about a hundred fifty.”
“
Yep, but he’s loosing stock to injuns and thieves.”
“We got two extra rifles to sell, and we need cash money.”
“Over to the general store, he’ll buy them and pay you cash money for them.”
“Thanks, how far to the Chugwater?”
“The Chugwater station is about twenty five miles north, the Reed ranch is about five mile down creek, but the station got raided, and the owner shot and kilt.”
“I know, we shot the skunks that kilt him, them’s the rifles we got to sell. We let one go, claimed he had nothing to do with them throwing down on us.”
“Should of kilt him to, you may have it to do later, go on over to the general store son, he’ll buy your rifles. I’ll buy you a whiskey if you are of a mind.”
“No thanks, we don’t drink rot gut, bad for the liver and the senses both, but thanks much anyways.”
“If you boys need anything, call on me, I live out the edge of town with my wife. I own this saloon.”
We finished our coffee and walked to the general store. The man behind the counter gave us twelve dollars apiece for the rifles. We in turn purchased some bacon, lard, sugar and coffee. Rafe bought us each a can of peaches. We set on the