Wagon Train / Long trail October 2013

Chapter 1

The US Marshal's office in Dodge City Kansas was the only brick building in town and the small army patrol that moved deliberately through the dust and chaos of Front Street was headed directly towards it. Captain Phillip Hanson was in charge of the small party and seeing the clearly written sign just to the left of the heavy wooden door, confirming that this was indeed the place he was seeking, he directed his platoon towards it.

Hanson was a man who had been raised in the Army, his father had risen through the ranks to become a general and he was desperately trying to live up to that standard. Unfortunately the spirit and intelligence that had helped his father achieve distinction was sadly lacking from his makeup. He thought he could make the men respect him by intimidation, but he soon found that what he received was only superficial acknowledgement, he was never looked at in the way the men had revered his father. If anything this only made him worse, he tried to find fault with all the little things such as a boot not perfectly shined or a button not perfectly fastened and as a consequence the men only tolerated him because of his rank, as a person he had no friends or respect.

The small group pulled up in front of the building, looking around he dismounted and instructed his sergeant to see that the men did the same. He stepped up onto the boardwalk and after a peremptory knock on the heavy wooden door, let himself inside the US Marshal's office.

It was only a short time since he had taken over command at the Fort that had given its name to the town and this would be his first encounter with the renowned Marshal stationed here. As a rule he had little time for civilians believing them to be unruly, undisciplined and generally an indolent group of individuals, but nonetheless there were times when one had to deal with them, and this was turning out to be one of those.

He looked around noting with disdain the somewhat disordered office, an open filing cabinet drawer, several dirty coffee mugs in different locations and an untidily made cot along one wall. He turned his attention to the small desk situated in a corner beneath a rifle rack and again saw only untidiness in the form of a scattered stack of mail and one more coffee mug that had obviously been sitting there for a while. Behind the desk sat a man who was busily writing, he continued at his task for several minutes before looking up at the Army Captain. Hanson was not used to waiting for acknowledgement, but once again put it down to ignorance on the part of the civilian population. Eventually the man put down his pen and looked up from where he was sitting.

"How can I help you, Captain?" he asked as he pushed himself up out of the chair behind the desk. As he rose to his full height Hanson realized that this man was about six inches taller than himself. Undeterred he removed his gloves and extended his hand.

"Marshall Dillon? I am Captain Phillip Hanson. I have recently taken over command at Fort Dodge."
The army man was surprised by the way the lawman responded to him. He looked him straight in the eye and with no hesitation replied to his greeting. Most people were intimidated by his uniform and military manner, but not this man. Henson looked at the Marshal more carefully and noted his unshaven face and rumpled clothes. The lawman, being a representative of the United States government, should at least have made an effort to appear better turned out by this hour of the morning. Fortunately he did not put his opinion into words
"Nice to meet you Captain. What brings you to Dodge?"

"The Army needs your help Marshal." It hurt his pride to say those words but in effect they were true. "There is a railroad surveyor, appointed by Washington who has just arrived at the Fort. He has been assigned the task of mapping out a suitable route for the continuation of the Santa Fe line, which will soon be pushed westwards from this city. As you know both the congress and the railroad companies are anxious to bring reliable transportation to this part of the country so that settlers and businesses can move out along the frontier lands. To put it plainly, he needs an escort to travel west from here to accomplish his task."

"Now wait a minute Captain, I am not subject to Army orders, nor do I work for the railroad." Matt had come from behind his desk and now stood looking at the Captain with thumbs thrust firmly in his belt. "In any case my territory ends at the Kansas State line and I hear that the proposed route will go to Denver and then turn south so I don't see how I can be of help."

The Captain smugly reached into a pocket inside his jacket and pulled out a letter that he handed to Dillon. The Marshal could feel a dread in the pit of his stomach and somehow knew he was going on a trip that could take weeks. He opened the letter that was addressed to him and had the governor's seal embossed in red wax on the back of envelope. The critical words were there

"….my office would appreciate your giving any help and assistance necessary to this project which is considered to be of vital importance to the State…."

A few pleasantries followed and then the signature of Thomas A. Osborn, the governor himself.

Still feeling he had won a victory over this civilian lawman, the captain added to his conquest.

"Mr. Henry Johnson arrived at the Fort last night and will be headed here later today."

Matt continued to look at him with steely blue eyes. "I trust you will find it convenient to follow the governor's request," the Captain added. He still felt the desire to tell this Marshal to smarten up his appearance, but fortunately saw something in that weather worn face and steady stare that made him decide not to go that far.

"Why isn't the Army taking care of this, Captain?"

"The number of men I have at the Fort has been drastically reduced by the fighting with the northern Cheyenne. I had to explain to the governor that I could not spare a suitably qualified soldier for what amounts to escort duty." Hanson at least felt he was suitably demeaning the task at hand, which in turn indicated what he thought of the civilian lawman.

Dillon took a deep breath, sometimes he wondered why he did this job, not only was he charged with upholding the law, but from time to time these 'extra assignments' seemed to land at his feet and often they turned out to be more dangerous and time consuming than his regular duties.

The Captain started to turn on his heel to leave when he suddenly remembered something. Reaching into another pocket he pulled out a second envelope.

"This came in with the army mail – it is addressed to a Miss Kitty Russell who I believe resides here in Dodge. I would request that you pass it on to her, my men and I have other duties to perform now if you will excuse me."
With that he left the office and Matt watched through the window as the small platoon headed off along Front Street. In his mind he cursed the Army in general and Captain Hanson in particular and was disgruntled to find that even that did not make him feel any better.

xXXx

It was a typical lunchtime in the Long Branch saloon in Dodge City, Kansas. This was a reasonably quiet time of year, the cattle drives were over, and most of the Texas cowboys had left town about a week or so ago and just a few stragglers, drifters and the occasional rancher remained. Most of the businesses and town's residents were grateful for the short respite before the cold weather of winter set in.

Kitty glanced up from washing beer mugs in the bar sink. Somehow she always sensed when the Marshal was standing there looking over the swing doors forming the entrance to the Long Branch. Some kind of sixth sense made her feel his presence. She could not stop the soft smile that crossed her face as she caught his eyes and watched as he surveyed the room before pushing his way through into the saloon. She pulled two mugs of beer and taking one in each hand, headed towards a small empty table at the back of the room. He followed her, still turning the envelope that the captain had given him, over in his hands, but now his eyes were on her. They both arrived at the table at the same time; he pulled a chair out for her and set the envelope down as he took the chair next to the red head. Using two fingers of his right had he slid the letter across the table until it sat in front of her.

"You look tired Matt", she said looking at him, too concerned to notice the mail. He had not managed to join her in the brass bed in her rooms above the saloon last night so that meant he must have been up until the early hours of the morning. The scrubby whiskers forming a dark shadow on his weathered face and the slept-in look of the clothes he was wearing confirmed her suspicion.

"By the time I got through sorting out those few stragglers from Texas who were trying to tear The Lady Gay apart, I had to wait on the late stage. The Sheriff from Cimarron was bringing a prisoner in for a one-night stop over until he could get on the Santa Fe this morning. The stage arrived about three hours late, so by the time I got to bed it was almost time to make morning rounds."

He took a swallow of beer, which did nothing to improve his mood and then pointed to the envelope.

"Some army Captain came by my office and dropped this off for you."

"Me?" she looked at the official envelope as if seeing for the first time, turning it over in her hands much like he had done.

"Well go on, open it."

She turned the envelope over once more then carefully opened it. Inside was a single sheet of paper with a military insignia as a header. She unfolded the paper then read quickly through the brief paragraph, then read it once more.

"Well?" Matt said, curiosity getting the better of him. "Are they trying to recruit you or something?"

"It sounds serious, it's from the commander of Fort Wallace. He says they have a young lieutenant who was seriously injured in a battle with some Cheyenne Indians. He is in the infirmary there at the Fort and wants to see me."

" How could anyone expect you to get there? Who is this lieutenant anyway?"

"His name is William Critt."

Matt searched his memory for a minute –"You mean the young southern gentleman who came here from New Orleans or somewhere and wanted to defend your honor."
"That's the only one I know."
"I can't believe he's a lieutenant in the army!"
"Me neither – but that's what it says."

She passed him the handwritten note, signed by the Fort Commander.

"Where is Fort Wallace Matt?"

He shook his head and she watched as his dark curls muddled themselves in the air.

"It's a long way from here through some dangerous country."

"Well can I take a stage or something."

"The Stage Line doesn't go there. It's right in the north western part of the state – Almost to Colorado."

"There must be some way to get there."

"Yes, you can ride a horse."

"Maybe you could take me there."

"Oh no Kitty, don't even think that. It's dangerous country, it gets mountainous there and it is easy to lose the trail. To add to that it's used as a hideout by bands of renegade Indians and gangs of outlaws who look upon any poor traveller as suitable prey. That's why the Fort was put there, to protect the wagon trains heading west on the Smoky Hill Trail."

Kitty had more sense than to pursue the subject further. It was obvious that the Marshal was tired and after his night's work not in the mood for a long discussion. Even so she kept thinking of Billy Critt and somehow could not even imagine him in an army uniform – especially as a lieutenant. She would work on the problem at a more suitable time.

xXXx

The Marshal's mood did not improve as the day went on. Several people told him he looked tired – not surprising when he considered that for the previous three months he could count his nights of uninterrupted sleep on the fingers of one hand. Most had been spent trying to keep bands of wild drovers from killing each other, or him, or trying to tear the town apart. Then last night had been no picnic - but all that was negligible compared with the unwelcome new assignment he had received – and he still had to break that news to Kitty. And then there was Billy Critt. He shook his head and went back to his office to finish writing two reports he had started that morning.

It was later in the evening when a young man dressed like he had just got off the stage from St. Louis stopped him in the street.

"Marshal Dillon?" he enquired, indicating the badge on Matt's shirt.

"Yes", the tall lawman replied carefully. Sometimes that same question led to a gunfight with someone with a grudge against the law – or someone hired by someone else.

"Henry Johnson," the young man thrust his hand out and smiled from ear to ear. To begin with the name did not mean much, but then he remembered Captain Hanson.

"You're the surveyor for the railroad."

"That's right, my wife and I have been so looking forward to meeting you."

"Your wife?"

"Well of course, we have only been married a month and so there was no way I could leave her behind. Anyway we plan to settle around Denver so we thought this would be a good way to make the trip. She is back at the hotel with my apprentice. All our survey equipment should arrive on the Santa Fe tomorrow."

Matt lifted his hat with one hand and rubbed the back of his head with the other. This man had no idea of the territory they were heading into.

"Look Mr. Johnson this trip is not going to be a Sunday school outing. We will be crossing tough terrain with all kinds of dangers, not to mention Indians, outlaw gangs and other undesirables. This is not going to be a family outing."
"Oh we are prepared for that, Marshal, just wait till all our equipment gets here tomorrow and you'll see. How soon can we get started?"

"I need to see how much equipment there is and what arrangements need to be made before we head out." He shook his head. "Just come and tell me when everything is here."

He watched as the young man took off along the street, oblivious to all the dangers that lay ahead of him.

TBC