Chapter 5
May 13 - Somewhere in Paiute country
Hoss rode back into the camp, shaking his head the minute his foot hit the dirt. "Abandoned. Not a soul."
"Water?" Adam asked.
"Yeah. There's a little crick out behind the house. There's...some business we need to take care of first tho." Hoss said, eyes dancing around the curious faces of the children.
Adam nodded, certain he knew what it was. "How long you figure that business will take a couple of volunteers?"
"Hour...maybe two. Hard ground up there."
Adam nodded. "Think it can be done before daybreak?"
Hoss shook his head.
"Alright. We'll camp for the day here. Soon as the work is done we'll take the mules up a team at a time."
Hoss' hand clamped down on Joe's shoulder and the youngest Cartwright flinched. "Joe...feelin' like a volunteer today?" Hoss asked, his hand squeezing so that Joe understood it wasn't really a question.
"You know, I still got that sore ankle." Joe said.
"This job'll take back power, not leg power. Come on, Joseph."
"I'll volunteer, Hoss." Bucky chimed up.
"He'll volunteer, Hoss." Joe echoed.
"No...no, this ain't your kinda job. Look, you fellars come here a spell, let me tell you what's gotta be done."
Adam watched Joe, Hoss and Bucky drift out of earshot of the camp, the bustle of the kids preparing for the last meal of the day, or rather night, taking over the vacuum of sound.
Behind him Harry, Wilson and Sewell were putting chocks behind the wagon wheels, unhooking the teams and setting them up in a rope corral. Martha, Catherine and Jane were building the cook fire and directing small hands to gathering wood, or fetching things from the wagons. The kids had learned pretty quickly that if they were hungry, it meant they needed to make food. If they were thirsty, it meant they needed to wait to camp near a water source. If they were tired, hurt, or sick, they needed to speak up to get tending.
The 'trail skills' that the letter from the shipping company had promised the kids already had, didn't appear until several weeks on the trail. And then, only because they were taught. Now the kids had trail skills, Adam thought.
When the conversation broke apart Bucky looked chagrined but grateful that he wouldn't be doing the dirtiest of jobs. Joe and Hoss took off on horses with shovels across their saddles and Bucky started looking after the rest of the stock, studiously quiet. It occurred to Adam, that other than the Paiute, Bucky may have never seen a body before. He couldn't say that about the orphans. They had each lost parents in the accident and known death first hand. For all the little tiffs and arguments between siblings and sometimes between wagons, most of the children had their priorities in the right place.
Adam went about making up the bedrolls for his brothers and Wilson and Bucky. He laid out the canvases that they used to create shelter during the day then started putting them up slowly. He was gradually using his right arm more, but the muscles tired quickly and he couldn't lift more than twenty pounds with that arm. He had a tent pole up and was driving the tent peg holding the tension line, down into the ground with his boot when Ren Davis, Axel James and Magnus Pickwick ran over to him, shouting his name. They grabbed his left hand and dragged him away from the shelter, saying they'd found something he needed to see.
When he returned an hour had passed. The sun was rising over the mountains, but hadn't yet touched the train. The final meal had been served, but Hoss and Joe still weren't back yet. Adam had managed to steer the boys away from the worst of it. He'd done his best to keep the alarm out of his voice, but Axel, Ren and Magnus all knew something was wrong. Adam had done his best to answer their questions without going into details, and the boys were sombre as they sat near the campfire. Adam was far from sombre.
They needed to move. They needed to water the stock, pack up the camp, hitch up the teams and drive as hard as they could. The weather had been cooler, but heat or not they needed to push through. Even while he was thinking it, demanding that his body cooperate against the pain and exhaustion, he watched older siblings tuck younger siblings into their blankets. He watched the final pot of coffee come off the flames and the fire being banked.
He wanted to check on Hoss and Joe, wanted to get the kids moving, get Bucky and Wilson started on the teams. Weariness held his body captive, stalled his mind into indecision. Martha came up to him with a plate of food then stood by him for a spell.
"You come in lookin' like Father Christmas forgot your stockin'." She said, her voice soft, inquisitive.
Adam wasn't hungry, despite knowing the food would be good. He handed the plate of food back to her, thanked her for it, and asked her to keep it warm for him.
He moved to the saddled horses and mounted, riding out toward the abandoned cabin up the trail. It took ten minutes to explain what he had seen to his brothers. They were headed back to the train, packing up and moving out before the sun was all the way in the sky.
"How long you figure til we're out of Paiute country?" Joe had asked.
"Two days to Fort Bidwell. We can camp there, resupply."
"You mean he still had the money on him?" Joe asked.
Adam felt the guilt like bile rising in his throat. "Yeah. I guess the Paiute don't have any use for greenbacks."
Joe fell silent then rode ahead.
Adam wrote in the journal while they traveled.
"Ren, Axel and Magnus discovered some cairns of stone outside the camp when we stopped for supper. The cairns were decorated with spears, feathers and beads. I kept the boys from going further up the trail and into the burial grounds themselves, and I'm glad I did. It looked like Fovey had tried cutting across the mountains through the burial ground. The cairns were the first warning. The Paiute left Fovey as the second warning. It explains why they've left us alone for so long. Seems they were busy keeping Fovey alive while doing their worst to him.
I wanted to believe that the Paiute was very much like the white man. I wanted to believe that despite the difference in ways of life, beliefs, and customs, the white man and the Paiute wanted the same thing. Life, freedom, and the chance to pursue both without hindrance. Whoever killed Fovey, did it slowly. As if they knew that Fovey had killed one of their own. If they know that Fovey was behind one of the guns that killed their braves, I fear what might happen to Wilson if he is captured.
Joe, Hoss and I had to leave behind the mormon cabin, the bodies only half buried. We stopped only long enough to water the mules and refill the barrels. The cabin and the creek behind it might have made a decent homestead, and who knows what could be found up in the mountains. Do the Paiute know what a strike will do to their holy mountain? If one man finds gold, or silver, who will win out? Have the Paiute reclaimed this land for good?
May 14
Our friends have returned. I've counted twelve different horses, and on one of them sits what I assume to be a medicine man. He wears bones and beads and is decades older than the others. If my time with "White Buffalo Woman" taught me anything, it is that a medicine man is never far from his place of power. I wonder if he thinks we will bring bad medicine to his tribe. I suppose he is wondering the same thing.
Yesterday we rested, and today we're back to traveling during the day time. Not the best solution, but necessary for the stock and the youngest. Maudie Johansson says that baby Hope is sick. She cries constantly when she isn't sleeping and will take little broth. Maudie has formula to give the baby in lieu of milk but the infant won't take it. She says we need to find milk at the earliest opportunity. I never would have thought I would be missing cows on the trail, but now I am.
Alma, Boris and Rhody Gruber have begun to pick up English. The more they learn the more eager they are to use their new words. When they are excited the words come out as a garbled mess, but they are learning quickly.
Catherine continues to flirt with Little Joe. I suspect that if she were seven years older, Joe would be flirting back just as eagerly. He does what he can to keep the relationship platonic but she is thoroughly smitten with him.
Hoss has his own admirer. Henrietta Pickwick is 10, a little bigger than the other girls her age, and she dotes on Hoss like he's her new pet.
Martha is ever attentive to me, making me wonder if she's losing interest in Sewell, or if he's somehow discouraged her affections. I would love to call it an academic attraction. Martha is so eager to learn and understand the world around her. She loves to listen to my "lectures" on just about every subject and I've heard her "reteaching" them to her younger siblings around the campfire. She would make a great teacher someday. She would make a great anything someday if society would only let her.
The train-"
The attack came from all directions. Adam heard a scream, felt the reins jolt as the mules jumped, heard the thwack of an arrow hitting the wagon wall, then dove backwards into the wagon bed. He clipped the side of his head on the corner of a crate, scrambled through the supplies piled high in the back of the wagon, then uncovered the lockbox. He didn't have time for the key. He tossed the box out of the wagon, even as it continued to roll forward, leapt out after it and shoved the shattered and splintered wood out of the way. Joe charged toward him on Cochise, bent to take the rifle that Adam held up for him, then circled back around the other side of the wagons, heading for the front.
Adam piled his arms high with rifles, throwing the boxes of ammunition toward the back of the departing Cartwright wagon until there was nothing but scattered bills and wood on the ground. He ran for the mules of the driver-less wagon, pulling at their traces to keep them in line with the other vehicles, the rifles slipping out of his sweat covered arms. Joe came charging back, took two more rifles from him, then went to the back of the wagon after Adam told him where the ammunition was.
Adam saw Joe hesitate, turned to the scatter of money that was blowing in the breeze, spreading across their back trail.
"Joe, leave it!" Adam called.
Joe finally turned, kicked Cochise to a gallop and charged into the circle of wagons as it closed. The young ones were already tucked into the wagons, the older kids scrambling to complete the drills that Fovey and Adam had taught them. The first attack had left fifteen arrows in the sides of the wagons, and three had pierced the canvases. Sewell was bleeding from a cut across his arm and Harry was bleeding from the head but that was the worst of it. Hoss, Joe, Adam, Wilson and Bucky spread themselves around the circle, keeping the horses inside it, saddled.
The second wave was meant to test their strength. The braves darted in and out on horses, launching arrows, but keeping their rifles in reserve. When Hoss and Bucky had picked off three of their number, two of them dead before they hit the ground, the braves backed away.
"I counted fifteen." Joe shouted from across the wide open ground inside the wagons.
"Yeah, about that many." Hoss agreed.
"They had their medicine man with them and we're close to their holy ground. The more time they have, the more men they'll get." Adam said.
"How far off is that fort?" Hoss asked.
"Can't be more than a few hours." Adam said.
"One of us could ride out-"
"And get killed."
"We could get to the fort and bring back a whole battalion."
"And get killed, Hoss!"
"I'll go." Wilson shouted, starting toward the horses. Joe stopped him, shouting, "No!"
"Nobody would make it ten feet outside of this train. The reason they aren't attacking us even now is because we're fortified and armed. And we wired Fort Bidwell before we left Virginia City with our schedule. We've stuck to it until now. When we don't arrive on time they'll send someone out to look for us." Adam called.
"Get back behind cover." Joe added softly and Wilson did.
The third attack came after an hour of waiting in the hot sun. It started with a push from the left side of the train that was meant as a feint, then a bigger attack from the right. One brave made it within ten feet of the wagons before he was shot from his horse. He was close enough that Catherine Davis was able to hear his neck snap when he fell. She screamed, began crying and was inconsolable, fighting Hoss's arms until he slapped her as kindly as he could. The pain shook her out of it, but left her silent, staring, rocking in the wagon and shivering. Her sister Aleen and brother Ren clung to her, terrified and Joe checked on her every few minutes.
Every hour or so a group of braves would ride by, hazing them with arrows and throwing the occasional spear. Adam knew, from personal experience, from newspaper articles, from journals published by the military that this was a tactic meant to wear down and draw out the enemy. He, Hoss and Joe knew to reserve ammunition unless they had a sure shot. It took several reminders to teach Bucky and Wilson that. The water was moved to where it could be protected and the kids were allowed a little food in the wagons. This was a waiting game. A game the Paiute could play until they were nothing more than bones.
"Adam...I know you said they'd be expecting us but, we gotta get to that fort." Joe whispered.
"Yeah..that's what they're waiting for." Adam said, giving his brother a stern look before he looked back out at the flat stretch of dry earth. "Amongst other things."
"You think they're just gonna sit out there until we die?" Wilson asked, terror in his eyes.
Adam shook his head. "No..there's no honor in that. Honor, strong medicine, are gained through combat. Hand to hand if possible. They might want what we have in the wagons, but only after they've defeated us to get it. They're after us for killing two of their own." Adam said, making sure Wilson had heard the last bit. The young hand backed away from the group of men and went to the other side of the clearing.
"If they're expectin' one of us to head for the fort...why don't we just do that." Hoss said.
Adam turned. "Are you ill?"
"Not nice…" Hoss muttered, then said. "I mean a dummy. Stuff a couple of sacks with somethin', put a coat and hat on it, set it on a horse and send the horse out towards the fort. See if them fellers follow, then somebody else can go out...on a horse, on foot. However, sneak by them Paiute and get to the fort."
"Forgive me, brother. That's not a bad idea. And it might make a good starter distraction." Adam trailed off, looking to the piles of cash that were still trapped in the wreckage of the strong box. "First...we should wait til dark. Those dummies will look better at night than in broad daylight. Second…" Adam's bottom lip curled up, caught in his teeth, still looking at the strong box.
"What...have somebody go out after that money?" Joe asked.
Adam nodded, then turned and grabbed a twig drawing a circle in the dirt. "Here's what I'm thinking…"
The wait til nightfall was a long one. Most of the preparations were done by the kids in the wagons who used almost every stitch of clothing they had to fill the sacks out. Adam added his coat and hat to one of the dummies and they kept it upright in the saddle with sticks and rope. Wilson put his coat and hat on the second dummy.
Adam, dressed as usual in all black was elected to go to the fort. He strapped a canteen to his back and had used coals from the small fire to blacken his face, hands and neck. He carried his six-shooter with him, but little else. Joe would be the one to venture out after the money. The hope was that with three people visibly leaving the train, and going in three different directions, the Paiute would be sufficiently distracted so that Adam could make the all out haul to the fort.
While they were preparing, the spirits of the children and adults in the train had lifted a little, dampened only by the occasional visit from the Paiute. But as night fell, and zero hour approached, all of them could feel the dread descending. Adam wished he'd had time to finish his journal entry. To leave something behind for their father to find, if this didn't work.
The horses and dummies were ready, Joe was standing as close to the lock box as he could get from within the circle of wagons and Hoss stood with his brother at the other end of the circle.
"This plan of ours...it's either gonna work like a charm, or this is the last time I'm gonna see you alive, brother." Hoss said. Adam was bouncing on his toes, terrified of what he had to do, but too keyed up to back down.
"How about we just pretend this is going to work like a charm and not worry about the alternatives." Adam said, cracking a smile that didn't stay. He was about to say more when he saw Miles and Martha Washington walking towards him.
Tall, skinny, long legged Miles was wearing nothing more than a coal blackened shirt and pants. No socks, no boots. Martha had wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, despite the warm night.
"Miles wants to go with you." She said simply.
"No...he needs to stay here. You two get back in the wagons."
"He goin' with you, Mr. Adam." Martha said, her voice strong despite the quiver of emotion. "We both know he the fastest kid in this train. And he already blend into the dark."
Miles gave his sister a sideways smirk, but kept his eyes trained on the ground.
Adam knew it was true, knew he didn't want a single child risking their life, and also knew...as he had known from the start, that the train wouldn't make it without everyone pulling their weight.
"Miles...you could be killed, son. Those Paiute aren't playing around. This isn't a schoolhouse race."
"I ain't never been to school, Mr. Adam." Miles said, his voice easily the deepest of all the boys.
Adam's chin tucked to his chest and he sighed. "You don't even have boots on."
"I run better without 'em."
Adam looked to Hoss who had the same indecision and pain on his face. Adam growled softly under his breath then said, "Get him a canteen. Martha you get a knife from your wagon, give it to your brother. And Miles...I'm boss of this run. You do what I tell you, when I tell you to and without question. Hear?"
Miles nodded, straightening a little. He was only 12 but easily as tall as Adam was, and all lean muscle. Far better built for a long distance run like this. Adam had the feeling he'd be slowing Miles down. But he wouldn't send the boy out alone.
Martha brought the knife and handed it to her brother, and Hoss handed the boy the canteen. Adam climbed under the tongue of the closest wagon and got himself set, then quietly said, "Ok."
One horse tore out across the desert, and every adult on the train started counting. Two minutes later a second horse left, and two minutes after that Joe ran out after the money. The first horse drew off a band of Paiutes, then the second. Adam hoped that whoever was left would be distracted by Joe as he and Miles took off, keeping to any shadows they could find, but running all out.
The horse that had gone in the direction of the fort was the main priority. Adam and Miles passed the Paiutes, with less than 50 feet separating them, not stopping to see if they had been fooled or not.
The group that went after the second dummy stopped short when the poorly secured sack fell out of the saddle. They jabbed at the sack with their lances then turned back to the wagon trains. Once they were close enough, Hoss and Wilson started tossing lit lanterns at the ground near their horses' hooves, knocking at least two riders down and lighting up the rest of the targets like it was daylight. Sewell, Harry and Martha had been armed, but warned not to fire unless the indians were close enough to smell.
Hoss and Wilson did their best to pick men off, wounding a few. The group that went after Joe realized it was trap long before they reached him and Joe actually managed to grab decent handfuls of the cash before scampering back to the wagons. When the Paiute finally retreated back to the rocks there were five additional dead on the indian's side, and one on theirs. An arrow had hit the perfect spot in the Pickwick wagon. It had driven through tiny gaps in the furniture and into the back of fourteen year old Albertus Pickwick. He'd died quickly, without his siblings even realizing he'd been hit.
There weren't men enough, supplies enough, hearts enough to deal with the aftermath. Hoss, Joe, Wilson and Bucky went through the motions. They held the wailing children and comforted Jane Pickwick. They reassured her that she could have done nothing to save her brother, and they fixed the gap in the shelter. They dug a grave for Albertus and held a service for him, all before the sun rose again.
But it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
When the sun rose there wasn't enough wood to build up the fire, so they let it die. The children ate meager, cold meals, and stayed in the wagons and the men struggled against exhaustion and depression, knowing that all they had left was hope and 100 rounds of ammunition.
"They ought to be there by now." Joe said, swiping at the sweat that wouldn't leave him alone. With the sweat and the bodies of the dead Paiute had come flies, and they were the biting kind.
"Yeah." Hoss said, trying to sound convincing. Trying to convince himself.
"Those mules need water." Joe said a minute later and Hoss could only agree with him. It didn't matter that it was needed, there was nothing they could do about it. The excrement from the mules had added to the fly attraction and since the shade of the wagons was the most pleasant place to be, that's where the flies went.
An angry swat could be heard from inside the wagons every few minutes. The babies had started to crying and their wails peppered the misery of the train, along with the heat and the stink.
"Sure wish they'd get here." Hoss said.
"They're comin'!"
"The cavalry?"
"No, the indians." Joe said, cocking his rifle. "Everybody get down low!" Joe shouted.
Four of the ten braves that ran at the train tried to jump their horses over the wagon tongues. Wilson and Bucky chased after the horses, slapping their backs with rifle butts such that two of them went straight through the middle of the train and jumped out the other side. The other two lost their riders quickly and Joe found himself sandwiched between two bare chested men about his age, kicking, elbowing and punching, all while holding off the blade to a knife.
Once Hoss had a clear shot one of the braves screeched and fell away. Joe felt a blow to his head that made the world black out for a minute, and woke up eating dirt. The brave had hold of his hair and Joe knew the next move would be a blade across his neck. He got his left hand out from under him and caught the wrist holding the knife before the sharp stone could touch his skin.
He tried to turn but there was a knee in his back. He tried to kick and the brave gave up on going for his throat, drew the knife away and went for a different tender spot. Joe felt the blade bite into his back and choked out a scream before he saw Bucky's boots fly past his head, taking the brave down in a tackle.
Joe swiped at the pain in his back and drew his hand up, splashed with blood. The knife was no longer in the wound and despite the wooziness in his head, Joe found he could stand. He picked up his rifle and turned to see Bucky trying to strangle the brave with the leather thongs the man wore around his neck.
Joe stumbled over and swung his rifle down, clipping the brave behind the ear. The native went slack and Bucky sat back on his heels, panting hard.
Joe knew the next couple of seconds would make or break the man. "C-come on, Bucky." He said, grabbing the man's shoulder and shaking him. "Back to your post." Bucky's eyes came up, latched onto Joe's. The youngest Cartwright nodded, breathless. "Back...to your post."
Bucky rose, looked for his gun, grabbed it up, then walked with jellied knees to where he'd been standing and guarding. Joe checked on the native, found him to be still alive but out cold, and used the thongs around his neck to tie his hands and legs. Joe made sure he didn't have any weapons, then put the brave in the middle of the wagon train. Well...dragged, anyway. He went to his knees by the brave, resting for a moment but couldn't make it back up to his feet again. Wilson came to him, but Hoss barked at him to go back to his side.
Joe heard his brother come to him, felt a strong hand under his armpit, and was back up on his feet, heading back for the relative shade cast by the wagon he'd been guarding all day. Hoss propped his brother up against the side of the wagon then fished in the back of the same vehicle for the cleanest piece of cloth he could find. His hand came to one of the few clean diapers left, but he figured the baby it belonged to wouldn't mind so much, and grabbed it along with the whiskey they kept in their own wagon.
Joe was hanging on, clinging to the wooden slats and even managing to heft his six-shooter, but he was already bathed in more sweat than he had been all day, and the flies were buzzing around his back.
"They gotta get here, they gotta get here…" Hoss repeated over and over, dousing the cloth with liquor before he wadded it up against the wound.
Joe let out a pitiful squeak of pain but he kept his feet under him. Hoss ripped one of the sleeves of his shirt clean off and used it to tie the cloth tight to Joe's back, smashing flies the whole time.
"They gotta get here, Hoss. They gotta." Joe murmured, his cheek pressed against the top of the wall of the wagon.
"They'll get here."
"Comin' again!" Joe did his best to shout, sighting down the barrel of his gun and taking down a brave full in the chest, galloping straight at the wagon train. Like he didn't care that he was riding face first into death.
Joe watched him fall, watched the horse turn away from the train. His back had begun to ache to the point where he couldn't ignore it and he still felt woozy from the blow to the head. "They gotta come. Just gotta."
He heard Hoss shout beside him and turned to see him bent at the waist, face tight in a grimace before he took a step forward and started to lift his gun, only to fall back a second time. Two arrows stuck out of his left shoulder and arm and as he turned his back to the wagon, one of the braves that had shot him came flying, horse and all, into the center of the train. Joe and Hoss shot him at the same time. He pirouetted in the saddle and fell under the hooves of his horse, laying still.
Joe watched Hoss break the shafts of each of the arrows so that little more than a few inches stuck up out of both. The arrow heads would have to stay in for the time being, no matter how dangerous that was. Hoss took a moment to drink from the canteen hanging between them, scanning where Bucky and Wilson were standing, looking through the gaps in the canvas on each wagon, listening.
He heard Hoss's voice, "Alright, alright, dadburnit. You want a fight, you're gonna get a fight."
A smile came to Joe's face and he hid it against the wood of the wagon wall, not sure why he was smiling or what was funny.
"Sure wish we could build something up to keep them horses from jumpin' in here." Hoss was saying, moving to the back of the Cartwright wagon and fishing around for crates that they could spare, thinking about the earliest of settlers and the spikes they would put out in front of the fort walls to discourage just that sort of thing.
The babies were wailing and he could hear the kids crying and saying over and over that they were scared. Martha and Sewell had both crawled out of their wagons and were laying under them. From the set of her shoulders Joe could tell that Martha was terrified, and Sewell kept wiping his palms on his shirt over and over, only succeeding in getting his shirt dirty.
The Paiute would come again, and again, and again, until there was no one left to stop them from coming. Until it was only Martha, or Sewell or Harry defending the train, and then what?
The next attack came from the side that Bucky and Wilson, Martha and Sewell were defending. They started firing the minute they saw the braves begin their charge, and no amount of yelling from Hoss or Joe could stop their triggers.
Wilson knocked a man down, then ran from one wagon to the next, climbing up to the driver's box for a better vantage point. He managed to step up before his body jolted and he fell back, boneless. Martha watched him fall, stared wide eyed at the spear coming out his chest and started screaming. Hoss ran to cover his spot, snapping at Bucky to get back behind his wagon. The braves circled, firing arrows into the wagons again. The tips weren't on fire, but the single torch held by the smallest of the braves was. Joe caught sight of the smoke rising up from the far side of the Gruber wagon and pushed himself toward it.
"Get the buckets of water. Get the buckets." He screamed, watched the brave bend to light another wagon and shot him down.
The bugle call had never sounded so sweet. Cavalrymen streamed down the trail, guns blazing as they deployed either side of the wagon train. Joe dragged himself up into the Gruber wagon and loosed the canvas from the side that wasn't burning, throwing it up and away from the curved supports. The wind caught it, taking the fabric and the fire away from the train and Joe doused the rest with one sweep of the bucket.
In minutes he could no longer see the blood soaked ground full of bodies. Only the deep blue backs of cavalrymen.
"Get these wagons moving!" A call came and there were men jumping onto wagon seats, guiding the mules. The animals that had been hit during the fight were cut from their traces and other animals took their place.
Joe passed out for a time and woke up, sitting in a saddle, dark clad arms around him, keeping him upright. His back stabbed at him like the knife was still there and he might have moaned out loud because he suddenly heard Adam telling him to go back to sleep. After a bit he did.