A novel by Scott Newton

Chapter one

1850

John Brown Jones went to Dell’s Tavern in Westport to get a cup of coffee. Westport would later become part of Kansas City. John had finished an inventory for the Emporium and been paid in gold coins. He had the freedom to travel a little but hadn’t made up his mind where to go, maybe over to Lawrence, Kansas to see his mother first.

He knew the bartender, Joe, an even-tempered kind of man. There was a young man at the far end of the bar, on his left, eating breakfast, and on his right an old man drinking beer, although it was only 9 a.m. The old guy was giving the young man a hard time.

“This is the goldamn Great Plains. We ride horses here,” said the old man. He had grey hair showing under a dirty cowboy hat, a grey beard, only a few teeth missing. “You need a horse, you dumb ass. Some Indians will get after you and you’ll die, not 15 minutes from here.”

“Yes sir,” said Dano, the young man. He was wearing new work pants, a clean shirt, he was clean shaven with a good haircut. He was finishing his breakfast. “I will take your well-meaning words under advisement.”

“Weren’t for advisement, you mule-headed sonofabitch,” the old man said.

“Now, the young the man is being reasonable,” said Joe the bartender. “I think that about settles the question. Let him eat in peace.”

“Now I know things and this Yankee is going to get killed not a day after his arrival on the ferry. I saw him walking and asks where his horse is and he said he don’t ride no horse and he don’t know our ways and dammit he’s a piss’n me off,” the old man said.

The grey-haired man stood up. John Brown Jones noticed he had a single-shot dueling gun in his belt. It looked well maintained. The old man doubled up his fist and was taking his first step toward the young man. It seems his intent was to hit the man unaware in the back of the head. He was old, but he made a couple of quick strides and had his fist balled up over his shoulder. John Brown Jones, sitting between the two, reached out and hit the old pioneer behind the right ear with his Walker Colt. It was a hard “tap,” just right. His hat fell off and he dropped to the floor.

John’s revolver had a 9-inch-long barrel. The revolver held six .44-caliber bullets with 50 grains of black powder each. There was an etching on it of the Battle of Walker’s Creek. Importantly, the gun weighed four pounds and nine ounces, enough to knock the old man out for a while. There is a well-known joke about a heavy gun, and John was reminded of it. If you don’t want to shoot a man, you can him with it.

John Brown Jones gave the bartender a small gold coin. “That’s for the man’s beer and a tip for you. Be sure and tell him, when he wakes up, I bought his beer. I might see him down the road,” John said.

“Sure I will,” Joe said. “I’ve seen the look in that old pioneer’s eyes before. He was looking for a fight. He’s too old and weak to fight, but he’s still got the meanness. That’s a problem.”

Dano Stone introduced himself. “Dano’s really my name. I don’t know what my parents were thinking when they hung that one on me. I guess you saved me from a headache and a fight.”

“John Brown Jones,” John said, reaching out his hand to shake. “In Kansas, we’re free-staters, not just in name but we believe in it, too.”

“Seems were about the same age,” Dano said. “I’m 21.”

“I’m 22,” John said.

“Are you for hire?” Dano said.

“I just got paid, so not really, but I’d take the right job. I’ve been thinking about traveling a little. What have you got in mind?”

“I’m going onto the Great Plains to find some agricultural Indians to plant corn and build a wind break. I’m doing this project to earn my doctorate in agriculture from Harvard College. You sound like an educated man to me?”

“My mother’s a school teacher. I can multiply fractions and figure percentages. Local businesses hire me to do inventory, figure profit and loss, consult on ways to improve the bottom line. I like to travel. I’ve been all the way to New Orleans on the Mississippi, and I took the trains in the east to go to New York City one time. Where are you headed?”

“I’m sure you know this Kansas territory better than me, and maybe have a better idea, but I was planning to buy a couple horses and a wagon and head toward Caldwell,” Dano said. Caldwell was a small town in south central Kansas.

“Onloaded onto the dock of the Missouri are several barrels of white corn, a plow and some tools,” Dano said. Dano had taken a steamboat from Saint Louis to Kansas City.

“I might do that, I guess. One thing I haven’t done is hunt buffalo, though I’ve seen ’em a bunch of times. What was that business with the horse?”

“I don’t ride horses,” Dano said. “As you observed, the old man was quite upset about it. I like to exercise by walking. And, if I meet some Indians, I don’t want to tower over them on a horse. It’s psychologically intimidating if you know what I mean. I want to meet them on equal terms, learn how they practice agriculture, and teach them to build terraces and wind breaks. If I can meet up with the right group, we’ll grow Indian maize and white corn together. I’ll write it up on paper, the state of agriculture among the Indians, and if it meets the approval of my professor, I’ll earn a doctorate degree.”

“Then you’d be a highfalutin professor and I’d have to call you Dr. Stone, I suppose.”

 “One thing at a time,” Dano said.

“I don’t know why that pioneer at Dell’s Tavern would care whether a person rode a horse or not. Sometimes the people here just get mad because it’s too hot, or too cold, or too many bugs, or too many rattlesnakes. A fight seems about the only solution,” John said.

Dano laughed out loud. He hadn’t liked the idea he would be beat up just because he didn’t ride a horse.

“I’d probably give traveling with you a try,” John said. “I just finished an inventory at the Emporium, across the street. Instead of horses, I’d recommend mules to pull the wagon. They’re durable and stronger than horses. They’ll be able to sell us a wagon there, too.”

“Sounds agreeable,” Dano said. “I can pay you $30 a month as long as we’re in the field.” They shook hands. They stepped over the old pioneer on the floor in Dell’s Tavern on the way out. He seemed to be resting comfortably.

                                                                                                                                                Chapter two

“I’m hoping to learn some Indian languages while we’re out. Of course, I want to avoid the warring tribes if you know what I mean,” Dano said.

“Of course,” John said. “Now, let me get this straight. You won’t ride a horse, but you’ll buy a pair to pull the wagon.”

“That’s right,” Dano said. “Look, I have to be realistic. We need horses for the work we’re going to do. The reason I walk instead of ride a horse is that Dr. James Wilson Thomas at Harvard College says horses have flatulence. When this country opens up, everyone will have a horse even for riding on errands in town. The gas from the flatulence will warm up the atmosphere and change the weather. I’m afraid we’re in for hard times unless we can figure out a solution before the atmosphere warms up.”

“I used to read in the evenings to my mother. I promised her I’d live at home with her until I was 18. I taught numbers at her school house and learned algebra. At night, we’d read about explorers like Magellan, Columbus, Lewis and Clark, and Captain Cook. But we also read about some scientists, and often people had good ideas but they were laughed at because they were different. So, I’m not going to make fun of Dr. Thomas’s theory. I’ll have to think about it some.”

“Of course,” Dano said. “I spent a planting season in the South. Those plantation owners are so lazy, well, they said they were born on a horse in Virginia. Human nature is lazy, so I know as soon as this country fills up, we’ll have problems with too many horses.”

John Brown Jones knew that Colonel Richard Dodge had estimated there were 31 million buffalo. Dodge had viewed a herd estimated at 50 miles deep and 25 miles wide. The earth seemed to handle the buffalo OK and supposedly they had flatulence, too. Regardless, John wasn’t going to make fun of the theory of the earth warming. He didn’t mind walking, liked it actually.

John remembered Aristotle once said the earth was the center of the universe, using logic. The earth element seeks to move to its natural place, Aristotle said. It was nearly 2,000 years later before Galileo resolved the issue through his study of planets. Yet John knew there were still people who believed the earth was flat.

Jan Ingenhousz, a Dutch physician, announced photosynthesis in 1779. Green plants use sunlight to synthesize foods from carbon dioxide and water. Ingenhousz built on the work of Joseph Priestly, who discovered plants convert carbon dioxide to oxygen in 1772.

Ingenhousz expressed his theory in a book called “Experiments Upon Vegetables,” a title that never ceased to cause April, his mother, and John to laugh. It just struck them as funny. Dano was at Harvard. Who knew what scientific theories they were developing, and how it might all turn out?

John knew the owner of the Emporium, having just done inventory, and they considered themselves friends although Heck Smith was an older man. John got a deal on two tall mules, a wagon and harness. When he bought the harness, he purchased extra leather so he could either drive from the wagon seat or hold onto a rein while they walked.

They put gear in the wagon. Dano had camping gear, John had a Kentucky long rifle, knives and axes, a travel bag. They purchased food. They went to the dock on the Missouri River and loaded barrels of white corn, a plow, shovels, hoes and other tools. It was March 1850, and they hoped to be on the Great Plains in time for planting season.

As they walked south out of Kansas City, Dano noticed that John was walking beside him instead of riding in the wagon. He smiled. Dano felt they were going to be friends.

Before they got too far, John stopped and took off his gun belt. He was going to have a sore hip if he walked 20 miles with a four-pound, nine-ounce sidearm. He set the holster and revolver on the floor under the wagon seat. He figured he could get it quick enough. The gun had only recently arrived at the Emporium. John saw it and bought it. It was the first revolver in the west and he felt the new technology would be an advantage.

Also, if he thought he would shoot game, John could grab the Kentucky rifle and hike with it a while. But they wouldn’t need food for a few days.

“Appraise me of the situation with the Indians,” Dano said.

“I’m going to tell you the truth,” John said. “Few white people can tell the Indian tribes apart. Sure, an Indian will know every time, but most white people have to be told.

“I know there are Kaw, Osage, Pawnee, Wichita, Kiowa and Comanche who would claim the plains of Kansas. After the War of 1812 there was some resettlement of Iowas, Missouri Sacs, Shawnees, Delawares and Kickapoos. Indians have been forced to resettle whenever white men wanted the land. Andrew Jackson’s Trail of Tears, starting in 1830, involved removing several southern tribes to the Oklahoma territory including Cherokees, Creeks, Seminole, Chickasaw and Choctaw.

“They are called the civilized tribes because they accepted some aspects of Anglo-American culture, such as agriculture, education and the political system.

“Out here on the plains, any stranger can be dangerous, white or red, but of course the Comanche are the ones most likely to kill and torture a man. They may range from Kansas and Colorado down into Texas and Oklahoma. I hear they go as far as Mexico, but I’ve never been down there. Truth is, I’ve never seen a Comanche.

“I’m told they stopped Spanish migration in the south, the best horse soldiers in the world. The other tribes fear the Comanche. They ride those Iberian mustangs, a tough, sturdy horse that stand about 14 hands tall. They can run all day and eat grass and cottonwood bark, not grain like these heavily muscled draft horses and fancy thoroughbreds the white man has.

“Anyway, people travel through the plains. The Sante Fe Trail has been open for 20 years and the 49ers have been busting a road they call the Oregon Trail. People have interactions with Indians. A man ought to be cautious, of course, but the interactions are often peaceful.”

Outside of Kansas City, they found numerous trails as the Oregon Trail wasn’t firmly established. It was lots of people wandering and looking for a trail. The most common route now ran through Nebraska, the territory north of Kansas, but Dano and John worked their way south, toward Caldwell in the territory of Kansas.

“I know a mule is the product of a female horse and a male donkey,” Dano said. “They are sterile. In the Southwest and Mexico, the donkeys are small, but the Tennessee and Kentucky donkeys are bred to be large. Is there a significant difference between mules and horses?”

“My understanding is the mules are leaner, more muscular and durable,” John said. “They seem to have a little wild in them and can hear and smell other animals. Their eyes are set back so they can see their hind legs and are therefore more sure-footed. Several men I know recommend the mule for a wagon. Oxen are good too, but slow. Horses are fine, but they aren’t built for the heat and rough treatment of pulling a wagon day after day.”

“That’s interesting,” Dano said. “I’ve of course had a class in large animals and a class in small animals, but the differences weren’t explained to me in quite the same way. Veterinary medicine is not my specialty, but a basic knowledge is necessary for an agriculture degree. I could dissect a horse, but I don’t know that much about them.”

John nodded. He understood the need to study anatomy, but had never thought of dissecting a horse. He knew they dissected human bodies in Paris as part of medical school at the Sorbonne.

March can be a time of fine sunshine, or wind, hail and lightning storms in Kansas. The travel turned out to be agreeable for several days. Recent rains had made the grass green and tall, with wildflowers everywhere. Wildlife abounded. The mules had names now, Wild Bill and Sassy Sue. They were hardy and although the ground looked flat, it was not smooth. Wild Bill and Sassy Sue made it through without difficulty.

John knew how to forge creeks with a wagon and showed Dano some of the tricks. First they walked the mules over, one at a time. This was to make the mules comfortable. The box wagon floated if the water was high. It was so designed, with the seams caulked with tar. They didn’t have a cover over the wagon. The main cargo was eight barrels of corn, a few tools and a plow, plus their personal kits. The barrels of corn were heavy, though. The wagon wheels were four feet in diameter on the back, and three feet in diameter on the front. The mules, on land, pulled the wagon on ropes through the creeks to keep from hanging up. The water was plentiful and they had to cross several significant creeks. The mules could swim but rarely needed to.

They spent the long days talking about family. Dano started the conversation. “My Uncle Dan owns a hotel in New Hampshire, and my mother and father, Jane and Joseph Stone, run it with my sister Julie and her husband Tall Bob. Uncle Dan must be 60, but he’s married to a young woman named Coco. They have two children, Ricky and Susan. I don’t know why, but Julie and her husband don’t have children.

“Uncle Dan has a factory that rends whale oil into fuel for lanterns and other such uses. He’s a pretty smart man, and he bought the hotel for his niece, now that’s Jane, and Jane and my father Joseph run it. Actually Julie runs the place. Mom and dad cook. I’m not sure what Tall Bob does.”

“Why aren’t you involved in the family business?”

“I like botany and agriculture. When I was a child, I grew a big garden and raised all the produce for the hotel restaurant during the season. The hotel’s very popular in the summer, but of course business drops off the rest of the year. My uncle purchased some books on botany, and I realized there was a lot to learn about agriculture, including economics. We need farmers to be prosperous to advance the art of growing. Since I was a good student, Uncle Dan said he’d finance some time at Harvard College with the stipulation that I’d quit when I thought I had maxed out my education. I find I keep learning, and wanting to know the status of agriculture among the Indians, I hit on an idea for a graduate degree.

“The lack of knowledge about Indians is endemic at Harvard College, I’m afraid. Uncle Dan is financing this little expedition. He’d come west too, if he could, but he’s got too many responsibilities.

“He can afford my little expedition. Also, he tests me all the time on what I know, and how I think I’ll use it. He said as long as I can keep him interested, he’ll keep financing me in school.”

Dano laughed. “That old guy loves me, I know, but I also love him. I work hard, I want you to know. I wouldn’t waste his money for anything.”

John nodded. “When you tell Uncle Dan the adventures you’ve had on the prairie, he’ll be more entertained than when you were drinking beer in Boston.”

Dano laughed again. “Are we going to have adventures? So far I’d tell him about the drunk you knocked out with a Walker Colt in Dell’s Tavern, about how reliable these mules have turned out and how thick the grass is. Meaning to me, there’s fine soil here to be farmed.”

John nodded. “This beautiful Kansas spring and the fine grass and the buffalo and other game we’ve seen, it is all fine, but yes my friend I see trouble all around us. Those big buffs can be quite angry before they fall dead from a shot issued by a Kentucky rifle. And we’ll get to a creek that’s so high we’ll be lucky not to drown. And when you see your first Kansas lightning storm, you’ll be crying for your mother.”

Dano laughed. “If I see a Comanche Indian, I may not live to see another to hear you tell it. If one of these mules kick me, I might not father any children. Slave owners from Missouri sometimes come over and burn out the homesteads of free-staters. Is that right? Yes, I see what you mean. Four or five months out here and I’ll have all kinds of stories.”

 John thought about Dano’s growing up. It was different from his own. “My father was a surveyor,” John said. “When I was three, he was out looking at a piece of property in consultation with the military in Leavenworth. Some Indians showed up, but they didn’t cause any problems. A young soldier shot at one to run them off, and of course those blunderbusses weren’t worth a damn and the lead ball hit my father, killing him.

“Interestingly, my mother forgave the young soldier. She said he did a stupid thing but people get killed being stupid all the time. My mother’s name is April, and she teaches school in Lawrence. Runs a school I should say. She charges tuition and has always made a living. As I said, when I got a little older I began teaching math for her. I’m quite advanced in algebra, self taught, but I know the theorems and can apply the numbers. I never wanted to be a teacher.

“Sometimes, because school boys of a certain age must prove themselves, I had to fight. It seemed appealing to beat up the headmaster’s son.”

John Brown Jones laughed. “I was named for the radical abolitionist and threat- to-society John Brown, so it was always easy to pick a fight. The truth is, I like a little bit of trouble. For some reason, I could always handle myself in a fight. Not that I didn’t take some beatings.”

Dano and John laughed. Dano was thinking of a fight he once had as a 14 year old, but it was mild so he didn’t mention it, thinking he couldn’t match John’s experience.

“Mother said my father had a bit of the devil in him, but he outgrew it as she was sure I would,” John said. “She made me promise I’d stay in the family home until I was 18, so I worked and taught and we read books at night. We talked about explorers and scientists and the conflicts between blacks and whites and Indians. She was a progressive thinker. She said all humans should be accepted as having a brain until otherwise proven differently.”

Dano laughed. “That’s an original way to say it. I think she would’ve done OK at Ol’ Harvard.”

“I was lucky spending those years with my mom. She knew I was interested in explorers and I read her all those books, and when we didn’t understand something we’d look it up if possible.

“When I got older, I started doing people’s account books. I’d say 30 percent of your business is overhead, 40 percent inventory and 30 percent profit. Then I’d suggest ways to decrease expenses. I told Heck Smith at the Emporium to focus more on horses, mules and wagons. The man knows horses and could build up a good herd with a little effort. With those 49ers and other farmers headed west, I suspect he’ll do well.”

“So, business people like me, I guess, and we talk shop and they like knowing the facts about their businesses. I charge them a fair amount. I figure it’s valuable and some of the business people are smart but can’t manipulate numbers enough to see what they need to do. They need help with planning and investing. It’s interesting.

“Anyway, when I’ve made some money, I’ve gone traveling. Been down to New Orleans, like I said. That’s an interesting place, very French I’d say, though I’ve never been to France. And then New York. Well, riding those trains, I know they’ll be all over the nation one of these days. We’ll be able to get one at New York and go pick up some gold on the beach in California.”

They both laughed, having already discussed that gold mining was actually work and not picking gold up off the ground as had been portrayed in the newspapers.

Chapter three

They may have been 50 miles from Caldwell, possibly closer as they had been traveling long, sunny days for two weeks. The grass was almost to the waist, thick and green close to the ground. They had seen buffalo several days in a row. The mules were performing well. Dano was pleased.

They saw smoke ahead, and then a large group of people, soldiers and Indians. They approached the camp slowly, and were welcomed by Sergeant Brooks Kearns in a blue uniform. “You missed the horse races,” he said. “We’re just getting ready to eat. You’re welcome to join us.”

John unharnessed the mules. It was his job to take care of them. He brushed them and let them graze on long ropes a little away from where the other horses were settled. Then John was given a plate and served buffalo steak, beans and a biscuit. He sat on the ground next to Dano and Sgt. Kearns.

“The Comanche came into our camp this morning wanting to race horses. They had this fat mustang we didn’t think could outrun a man,” Sgt. Kearns said. He laughed heartily.

“It finished second to one of our better horses. We had all made bets beforehand, and the men were excited about winning a lot of Indian souvenirs. Then they picked out our best horse, Lieutenant Folger’s black gelding. He takes great pride in the horse and didn’t want to race it, but all the men wanted to win more stuff. They thought they had the Indians on a short leash. Well, that fat, dun pony won by three lengths and the Indian riding him rode the last fourth of the race facing backward and laughing at us. They got a lot of good stuff, hatchets, knives and tobacco.”

“I’m glad everyone is getting along,” Dano said.

“No one wanted to fight. The soldiers have a lot of guns, and the Comanche have a reputation. Just looking at them, we were scared,” Sgt. Kearns said. “I guess no one was in the mood for a bunch of killing. After the race we offered to feed them, but they supplied the buffalo meat. Of course, we’ll post double guards tonight, but we’re all amazed to see Indians in the wild.”

 “These are the first wild Indians I’ve seen,” Dano said. “How did you know they were Comanche?”

“They told us,” Sgt. Kearns said, and he laughed again. He was an easy man to like. “They could’ve told us they were Eskimos and we wouldn’t have known. They are going to show us some riding skills later.”

Sgt. Kearns excused himself, took his plate to the outdoor kitchen area and went to talk to Lt. Folger in front of his tent.

“Have you seen Indians before?” Dano said.

John told him he had.

“I don’t want to be disparaging,” Dano said, “but they are not big men, and they’re chubby. Other Indians have better hair, not curly and matted.”

John nodded. “They have strong arms and legs, though.”

The Comanche wore breechclothes and moccasins. The breechcloth was practical for the hot Kansas weather. There is a leather belt of some kind with a rectangular cloth tucked in on the back, and folded over the belt in front. If one pulled up the front flap, it still provided modestly like underwear or a swim suit.

Some of the Comanche had feathers in their long, black hair. Most had arm bracelets. The metal appeared to be silver or gold, but it was hard to say. They were shiny, though. They had beautifully made bows and many arrows, some with stone tips and others with metal tips. The metal was traded for or found in the garbage of the white man. They carried 14-foot lances.

“I’ve seen tall and well-built Pawnee,” John said. “They were in buckskins and, I must say, impressive. I’ve seen town Indians, but that’s kind of a mixed bag. I can only tell you this is the one tribe no one wants to fight.”

“Curious,” said Dano. “A world I do not know.”

“They all seem in a good mood now,” John said. “I guess it feels good to have hustled a bunch of Yankee soldiers. Who knew they liked to gamble?”

Dano nodded. When they finished eating, they took their plates to the kitchen area. John checked the wagon, and put on his Walker Colt. Maybe seeing it would prevent the Indians from following them with an idea of robbing them. Dano watched John as he talked to the soldiers. There were probably 40 soldiers and 25 Comanche.

Many of the soldiers crowded around John to look at the Walker Colt. They were not so well equipped as the Walker Colt was a new gun. John also had an Anstadt Kentucky rifle. It was a light and powerful rifle made by German gunsmiths in Kutztown, Pennsylvania.

The soldiers had the new Model 1843 Musket, with a smooth bore and a .69 caliber ball. They also had the more accurate Model 1841 .54 caliber rifle, which has a groove in the barrel and a more spherical bullet, which made it more accurate. The rifle had a patch box on the side and would eventually be called the Mississippi rifle.

Still, like the Kentucky rifle, they were single shot, loaded by putting powder in the barrel, and a ball or bullet, a patch, and tamping it down. It took most men a minute to load a rifle while a Comanche could fire six arrows in 30 seconds. John’s Walker Colt was the only rapid-fire gun developed so far and its distribution would be slow.

Later, John showed the Walker Colt to Lt. Folger. Lt. Folger told John that the Indians and whites had bet numerous items, but he did not allow them to include guns in the bet. John told the officer that Dano was intending to meet some agricultural Indians and raise corn with them. Lt. Folger nodded but didn’t comment on the plan.

Later still, the Comanche gathered round, and John let them hold, and pass around, the Walker Colt. Dano thought this was bold, but the mood seemed friendly enough and the Comanche seemed to grasp the value of the repeating pistol.

The Comanches spoke a Shoshone dialect, a lingue franca of the Southern Plains. None of the white soldiers could speak it, although other Indian tribes in Kansas could. The Comanches didn’t speak English, but somehow the Indians made it clear they would provide an archery and riding exhibit.

A Comanche put up a post, and a soldier drilled a hole in it at the top. The same man put a nail in the post and the Indians found a piece of wood to swing on the post.

Seeing this, another soldier took paint and made a large, circular target. When they were done, Indian and white were pleased with the result. There was an eight-foot post with a pendulum that swung in front, a two-foot-in-diameter round target painted with red circles on the bottom. A man pushed the pendulum and it was a wide and easy swing.

The Comanche rode in a circle, passing by the target, and sometimes Indians stood on a horse to fire an arrow or reached down and picked up a lance from the ground. The soldiers cheered each stunt, quite impressed. John watched as Dano was entranced by the performance. A man who didn’t ride a horse was most impressed by the horse army of the Comanche. However, the show had only begun.

The Indians began riding, still in a circle, and leaning under the necks of the horses, holding on with only the off heel, and shooting arrows at the target, usually six in a row, almost always hitting the target. The Comanche stopped, changed directions, and again leaned so far off the horse they were able to shoot under the horse’s neck. It seemed impossible, but they kept hitting the target. The white men went crazy over the display of skills. Indians hanging onto horses with a heel and shooting arrows under the neck of the horse. Dano seemed in a trance and John believed he would’ve watched this all day. Before long, it seemed, every inch of the round target had an arrow in it.

After a time, the Indians rounded up their winnings from the horse race and rode off into the grass of the Great Plains to the west. They had hatchets, knives, tobacco and a few cowboy hats. John and Dano spent the night at the camp with the soldiers. In the morning, the soldiers headed north, and John and Dano continued south.

Alone on the prairie, Dano said he was most impressed by the horse-riding display. “I think it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it. I hope nothing ever happens to the Comanche.”

John smiled. He was leading the mules and the wagon. He wore his Walker Colt today. He was well fed and rested and the traveling seemed a pleasant thing.

“If we had met the Comanche by ourselves, they might have killed us,” John said. “They won’t walk into a losing proposition, like those soldiers, but they will kill whites, Mestizos, other Indians. They will scalp them, torture them, rape women, take children slaves, kill babies, fill you full of arrows or maybe place hot coals in your abdominal cavity. They’ll cut off digits and put them in your mouth. Everyone on this earth who knows them, fears them. I have heard and read many stories.”

“Well, if I get killed by a Comanche, tell my family I found them the most fascinating race of people on the face of the earth and I already forgive them,” Dano said.

John laughed a nervous laugh. For him, it was not hard to imagine being killed by a Comanche. Dano was laughing at the idea like it was crossing the path of a black cat. John thought it unlucky, such bold talk.

“Sgt. Kearns said they hunt buffalo with that long lance. They ride up to the buffalo, throw the lance on the right side between the lowest rib and the hip, and then their horses move away from the buffalo because the buffalo can charge them before they die. The buffalo are not to be messed with.”

“I’m not picking a fight,” Dano said. John smiled.

“There’s a war against the Comanche in Texas,” John said. “I’ve read about the Cynthia Ann Parker abduction in Texas, and about the war with the Comanche on the Texas border. There are a lot of bad things going on there. I don’t want anything to do with it. But you and I know there is a force called Manifest Destiny, the movement of people to the West, and the Comanche are not going to survive it.

“You are making me gloomy,” Dano said. “We are friends. I want you to speak the truth to me, but no more today. It would be too sad. I love those Comanche horse soldiers.”

“Agreed,” John said.

Chapter four

John and Dano traveled two weeks without seeing anyone. Then, they saw soldiers and Comanches, and the next day, out on the Great Plains, a small group of Wichita Indians. They spoke a little English, and wore white men’s clothes. The men wore their hair short. There were three families plus several individuals camped, and they said they expected more. Dano asked them if they were agriculture Indians

They said they were. They had moved up from Texas, which had proved hostile to Indians. They told John and Dano they had been successful farmers in Texas. John knew about Francisco Vazquez de Coronado. He had traveled as far as Kansas in 1541 looking for the seven golden cities. The tribe Coronado met with were thought to be Wichita. He described them as a large, handsome people.  

“My mother and I read about Coronado,” John said. “Coronado said he respected the Indians, but also he had them as slaves, so I didn’t think he respected them too much.”

Dano explained the contents of the wagon to the Wichita and asked to spend the night. John went out, with a few of the men, and shot his first buffalo with the Kentucky rifle. The men were experienced hunters. The Wichita were an agricultural tribe but they also hunted, which they said was common. They were happy to see John shoot his first buffalo. Everyone ate well and it was clear to John Dano had found some people he could work with. After the evening meal, John rolled a cigarette and talked to Dano.

“I would like to spend some time with the Wichitas alone, so that I might learn their language and earn their trust,” Dano said.

“OK,” John said, holding a stick in the fire, then using the flame to light his cigarette. “I need to come up with a plan. Are you keeping the mules and the wagon.?”

“I hoped you’d take care of the mules, and we’ll unload the wagon. I’ll keep a diary of Indian words and may publish something when I get back to Harvard College.”

“Sure,” John said. “You’ll stay here till harvest?”

“That’s my plan. Wish me luck. I would like it if you’d accompany me back sometime in July. I’ll pay you for your time, of course, as agreed.”

Just as John knew not to tease Dano about horse flatulence causing global warming, he knew Dano didn’t want him to interfere with his relationship with the Wichita. John took a few puffs of the cigarette, thinking. He was not offended Dano wanted to be alone with the Wichita.

“I think I’ll move on to Caldwell, for a little socializing, then I’ll move across to the Arkansas River. I’ll camp, hunt and keep the team and wagon in good shape. When you’re ready to go, sent one of the Indian boys to find my camp on the Arkansas, and we’ll head back to Kansas City. I’ll look for him in about three months.”

“That would be perfect,” Dano said. “Don’t get in any trouble in Caldwell. I suspect there’s some rough men there.”

“I’ll see if any businesses need bookkeeping. If not, I’ll drink some beers and then head out. I can make some money collecting furs. I can leave our supplies with you and get some more in Caldwell. You’ll spoil the Wichita Indians with biscuits and sweet cakes.”

John rode in the wagon with the mules after getting out of sight of the Indian camp and Dano. Caldwell was a big nothing. It had a 10 foot by 10 foot mud-straw brick building with an open front, which was considered a saloon, and a kind of a lean-to, small, that served as a grocery store, selling canned goods, flour, lamp oil, gunpowder and lead.  

He traveled a few days to the Arkansas River and found a camping spot. The Arkansas River and the Sante Fe Trail run parallel in many spots.

At first it was a bit of a lonely experience for John as he ended up camped on a tributary to the Arkansas and could avoid travelers on the Sante Fe Trail if he wanted. John knew how to fill his time and was amazed at the amount of game in the area. He had bear, deer, rabbit and racoon furs, and one buffalo fur. He ate cobblers with sand plumbs, and other wild food he was familiar with. He knew the Indian way to prepare furs. He staked them out, scrapped off the bits of meat, and when they dried he rubbed them with animal brains. He put salt on them as a preservative. They were beautiful and would command a good price. He stored them in the wagon, which he covered with a canvas tarp.

He left the mules on long rope tethers. He found they were excellent guards. If any animals were within a mile, the mules would bray a little, and point their ears. John found he could head in that direction and usually find a bobcat, wolf, coyote or buffalo.

He did venture over to the Sante Fe Trail to see what was going on. There was a significant amount of traffic on it, which surprised him. He met a couple of men camping and they invited him to dinner. It helped that he had a deer carcass slung over Sassy’s body. He was riding Wild Bill.

“I have fresh meat,” John said, “if you would like company for dinner. A young man in his 20s said certainly John was welcome. The young man was traveling with a man in his 40s, who introduced them.

“I’m the Reverend Dennis Lockett. You can call me Dennis; no need to be formal. This is my young friend, Barlow Smith, who is providing my transportation.”

“I’m John Brown Jones, camping nearby, collecting a few pelts. I have a friend nearby raising corn.”

“It seems this land is quite fertile. I think your farmer friend will do well,” said the Rev. Lockett.

John had already gutted and bled the deer. He cut out some steaks and put them on a grill over the fire. The two men had some bread, potatoes frying in oil, and slices of pie. “This is a good camp,” John said. “Most travelers aren’t this organized.”

“I have tobacco in the wagon. It’s full of tobacco, so people are willing to trade for food, or anything else we need. People always run out of tobacco. The farther down the trail I get, the higher the price of tobacco will be,” Barlow Smith said. He laughed.

“That’s a good plan,” John said, although he wasn’t sure.

As they were preparing dinner, the Reverend took out a bottle of whiskey and three glasses, and the men had a few drinks. The Reverend told the story of Noah’s ark, from Genesis. “The story appeals to people because we have a relationship with animals. God told Noah to build the ark as the world was evil, and he wanted to rid it of the evil. He was to take a pair of every animal on the ark. We are told it rained for 40 days and 40 nights, but there is no evidence there was ever a world-wide flood. I say the story is not true. The lions would have eaten the lambs straightaway,” he said, and laughed. This was obviously the punchline.

“But the message of Christianity is good,” he said, continuing what John knew was a practiced story, a sermon of sorts. “Treat your brothers and sisters as you would like to be treated, the Golden Rule, that’s the lesson of Christianity.”

Barlow Smith didn’t comment. He’d probably heard the story before. Maybe Reverend Lockett had stories about Jonah and the whale or Adam and Eve. John thought maybe the story of the ark was true, one needed faith, or maybe a parable, comparing the ark in water with baptism in water. Regardless, he did not intend to discuss theology. His mother would probably have observations he hadn’t considered. She was better educated on religious matters.

“Now, I’m a man who enjoys the fruits of the earth, the joy of being with a woman, a good meal, a drink of whiskey. What I urge, is that people treat each other well, peace among people with different ideas,” said Reverend Lockett.

The Reverend didn’t smoke. John occasionally puffed on a cigarette in the evening but didn’t have any tobacco with him; he had run out and didn’t buy any from Barlow Smith. Perhaps the Reverend didn’t partake of Barlow’s stash of tobacco to keep the peace, John thought. Regardless, young Barlow Smith puffed cigarette after cigarette as the fire died down. John divided the meat with the men and started back toward his camp. John had taken to talking to the mules in his time alone on the Arkansas River.

“Bill, you’re a good mule, and you too Sassy Sue,” he said. “I wonder if Barlow is going to end up with any tobacco at all once he gets to Santa Fe. He’s sure puffing away.” He was riding Bill and leading Sue on a rope. It was a warm evening and the stars were sparkling.

Forty-niners were opening what would eventually be called the Oregon Trail and traders regularly traveled the Santa Fe, but John didn’t have a lot of experience on the trails, only what he had heard or read about in newspaper accounts.

“Religious zealots, entrepreneurs, good farmers and lousy farmers, and dreamers and criminals. Looks like the West is going to be full of them,” John said. “But Bill and Sue and John Brown Jones, we seem to be OK. We are OK.”

John had been noticing Wild Bill was only slightly larger than Sassy Sue. Bill had a white patch on his face, Sue only a dash of white. Both were dark grey, almost black in color. Bill seemed a little stronger than Sue pulling the wagon, but both were good mules, evenly matched.

John had discovered during a thunder storm the mules did not like the violent Kansas lightning. During one storm they had bucked and kicked, and John turned them loose to give them whatever freedom they needed. After the storm, he found them easily so from then on, he turned them loose if there was lightning. It seemed to be the only time they misbehaved. Kansas thunder storms have a well-deserved reputation. The mules were never as heavily burdened as many of the mules on the Oregon or Santa Fe trails.

By July, John was antsy for company and a Wichita boy, maybe 15 or 16 and named Meadowlark, because of his quickness, found John and told him Dano was ready to go to Kansas City.

Meadowlark was pleasant to talk to and he was excited to tell John about how popular Dano was, and how prosperous the crops were. The Wichita were pleased with the country and were building two houses. “Dano has girlfriend,” he added. John smiled at the news. Meadowlark had limited English, but he knew the word girlfriend.

“Really?” John said.

“Yes,” said Meadowlark, very sincere.

When John saw the area, two days later, he was impressed by the transformation. A terrace, to hold rain water on a slope, was formed on one side of a row of corn, several stalks wide. It was obviously a practical idea. The corn had been harvested, but one could still see the arrangement. In addition, young trees had been transplanted to provide a wind break. John smiled as he looked it over.

“Come take a look over here,” Dano said. “The Wichita showed me how they farm.” In an area within the terrace and wind break, Indian corn was planted with beans at the base, which curved round the stalk to the top, and pumpkins surrounding on the outside.

The corn had been harvested, but the circular setup remained in place. There were beans yet to be harvested and the pumpkins were small. “The corn of course is a carbohydrate and provides energy. Beans have nitrogen for the soil and are nutritious as food. The big leaves of the pumpkin plant provide shade for the roots, preserve moisture and minimize weeds. And of course one can eat them. It’s all very clever, wouldn’t you say?”

John and Dano’s large tent was open to the air, it being hot in Kansas in July. It had flaps that could be rolled up. A young woman was in the shade in the front of the tent cleaning up camp. She was slender and wore a cotton dress. John had noticed the pretty woman in March. Meadowlark was not gossiping. Dano had a girlfriend.

Dano saw him looking and said, “Come on over. I’ll introduce you to Itka. That’s the name she goes by.”

“She’s going to be sad to see you leave?” John said.

“We’ve talked about it.” Dano said. “I’m not saying we’re happy about it.”

The Indian names were interesting to John. Meadowlark was an English name but not what he was called by fellow tribe members. Itka meant many stars in the night and she didn’t have an English name. He didn’t know how such a short name could signify so much content. John didn’t know how to spell the Indian names and could barely reproduce the sounds of some of the native speakers.

There was a large feast and much celebrating that night. The Wichita dressed in native fashion and danced what they called a harvest celebration. John felt welcome but Dano was the star of the show, the 20 or so Wichita Indians all talking to him at one time or another in serious tones. John could see he had made many friends.

The next day was sad. John and Itka packed up the tent while Dano consulted the men about the farm. Itka smiled but said her English wasn’t good. Later though, when she was more comfortable with John, she said, “Dano good man for me. Everyone like.”

John nodded. They packed up and walked out of camp, the wagon much lighter this time. The Wichita had a good store of white corn in addition to what they had started with, the native Indian corn. The mules had to be held back to keep them from taking off, the wagon was so light.

Dano talked for a day about all the projects he and the Wichita had accomplished. He was told the Wichita denounced violence as it had not worked for them; white men had too many guns. They accepted they had to live among whites. Having been run off before, they hoped to establish a farm and live in harmony with neighbors, when they came. Dano was full of energy that day, but after that he was melancholy. John carried the conversation at times.

“I don’t know how I’ll ever replace Itka,” Dano said. “She was just the best, I can’t tell you all the ways.”

John nodded.

“When I was in the South, studying plantation agriculture, it was very frustrating to me. The slaves did all the work, but when I suggested improvements they could make, specifically crop rotation, those plantation owners looked at me like I was crazy. The slaves did all the work and could see there was merit in what I was saying.”

John nodded.

“I was quite taken by one of the black women,” Dano said. “I’ve never told anyone this before. She said she liked me but we could not have a relationship of any kind. She said it would end badly. Worse than I could imagine, she said. Slavery makes me sad.”

In Kansas City, Dano sold the wagon and mules back to the Emporium. Dano booked a ticket on a steamboat to begin his trip back east. He would end up in New Hampshire, then travel to Harvard College in September. He made plans to meet John again next March. He would go back to the Wichita, he said. John sold his furs and collected his money from Dano, and offered to buy Dano a beer in Dell’s tavern.

John intended to visit his mother in Lawrence, Kansas before moving on to find other work. In truth, he had no plan at all.

Dano had introduced John to all kinds of ideas he had never considered, mainly white men and Indians working together to tame the Great Plains. John was impressed Dano had actually met Indians and grown crops side by side with them. He was sad to see his friend go. He thought he would never see him again.

Chapter five

Dano sent a letter to John in January, and arrived in Kansas City in March as announced. Dano had a load of 100 apple trees and a few assorted tools, which he unloaded on the dock of the Missouri River. The traffic on the Oregon Trail had picked up so Sassy Sue and Wild Bill, being a little older and seasoned, sold for a great price. The owner of the Emporium sold John and Dano a pair of young mules, not as large as Sue and Bill, but a good pair. Because of demand, the wagon cost more this year, but Dano was sold a good wagon that had been held back because the owner knew John Brown Jones was making another trip onto the Great Plain.

“The plan this year is to follow the Oregon Trail a ways into Nebraska, then find a farming tribe that could benefit from the apples,” Dano said. “Apples are versatile. You eat them fresh, dry some for later, preserve the juice as cider. It could produce a great bounty over time.”

“What about Itka?” John said.

“I would love to see her again. I’m not sure when. I’m still thinking about it.”

John nodded. He had already learned Dano operated in his own way. It was as if he owned the world, and there would be time for everything. All travel would be safe. The good soil of the United States would fill the world with a bounty of food. The common man, the farmer, would prosper.

Maybe the meek would inherit the earth, and the lion lay down with the lamb, but John doubted it. However, he liked to hear Dano talk, liked to hear his theories and idealized visions for the world.

“They must teach some crazy ideas at Harvard College,” John said.

“Not really,” Dano said. “They have sound theories, but they could help so much. The plantation system is failing in the South. The West needs agriculture to supplement the buffalo. There is so much to do, and those people at Harvard are more concerned with their small lives teaching botany and animal science.”

It was the first time John heard Dano speak a discouraging word about Harvard. It was a brief rant, however, and no more was forthcoming as to why Dano had turned a little sour on Harvard.

“Did you get your Ph.D.?” John said.

“Well on my way,” Dano said. “Just a few items to finish up. Quite a place, Harvard College. I wouldn’t mind teaching there myself someday, although as I’ve already implied, I would do things differently.”

John, and his mother April, knew John was well-versed in college-level algebra. His mother told him he’d be a fine college professor, and she could help him find a position. John couldn’t imagine it, for some reason, and never considered the idea.

In two weeks, John and Dano turned south off the commonly used Oregon Trail and found some pretty, remote land. In a valley in Nebraska, near the Kansas River, there was a group of Creek Indians with a large, well-established camp. They had been harassed for years and kept moving north. The elders in the tribe had once lived in Louisiana. Despite being peaceful and having some educated members, even trying to be political at times, they were forced off land in Texas. They hoped this valley in Nebraska would hold something better, more permanent. The Creek wanted stability, and good farm ground.

It seemed they would not avoid trouble on this day, however. Two men arrived at the Creek camp the same day, but earlier than John and Dano. They invited themselves into the camp and were making themselves unpopular. A big man, maybe six-foot-three, was following a young Creek woman all over the camp. It was obvious she didn’t want the attention, but also no one seemed to have a good idea how to stop the harassment.

“I think these Creek have potential,” Dano told John. John had unhitched the mules and were grooming them and putting them on a rope to graze, but otherwise they had not talked very much with the Creek. John watched the big man with the unkempt, blond beard and receding hair line follow the woman around the camp. They had not been there 30 minutes, but already one could figure out the problem.

John nodded to Dano. “You aren’t going to be able to figure anything out until we get rid of these two,” he said, motioning toward the camp. While the big man followed the woman, the other man sat on a blanket with his rifle. He was skinny, and small. John put on his Walker Colt.

John walked up to the big man. He walked slowly, taking in the settlement. The Creek had built three sod houses. A blacksmith shop and a barn were under construction using lumber. Like the Wichita, they wore the white man’s clothes.

John heard the big man talking in a Southern accent. He noticed a piece of wood three feet long and about two inches in diameter. It would suit his purposes.

“I say there, big man, what do they call you?”

“Bear,” said the big man. “What’s it to you?”

“I’m John Brown Jones,” said John. “They always call a big man bear. The bear is a shaggy, smelly beast, so it’s not a compliment. I wouldn’t allow it myself.”

The woman was no longer of interest. “Hey Jimmy,” Bear shouted at his friend. “These free staters here would like to camp with us. This one’s named John Brown. Ever hear of anything so stupid? I hated that abolitionist, terrorist son of a bitch.”

He laughed a big, booming laugh in anticipation of a fight. John picked up the piece of wood he had spied, swung it into Bear’s knee. Bear fell to his knees and let out a cry of pain, an obscenity, but before he could realize the fight had started John hit him in the head with the piece of wood.

Bear got up to try and fight but John hit him hard in the ribs, on the right, and then on his left shoulder and neck. Then, with a lot of energy, he gave him another head shot, which knocked him out. “I dislike a man from Missouri,” John said, dropping the piece of wood and turning to face the man on the blanket, who was raising his Kentucky rifle.

John pulled out the Walker Colt. “I’ve got six shots here to your one. Do you want me to tell you the odds?”

The man, Jimmy, put down the rifle. “I don’t want no trouble,” he said.

“Then load up your friend and leave camp and don’t come back,” John said. “I’ll kill this fire-starter the next time I see him, no warning. Even if I run into him in a flower shop.”

“You say things in a funny way but get your point across,” Jimmy said. “Is he even alive?” Bear’s friend seemed a reasonable man, but as all men of a certain age know, good men can get in trouble running with no-accounts.

“No man from Missouri is welcome in this camp,” John said. Jimmy packed up the camp, not a lot of possessions, and then Dano and some Creek agreed to help load Bear onto his horse. Bear groaned a little, which showed he was alive. John thought he would recover eventually, but maybe not. It didn’t matter to John. A man like that could kill you if not handled correctly. In a fair fight, Bear would have killed or hurt him.

With the two men gone, Dano talked at length with a man in the tribe who spoke a little English. Some of the Creek men got in the wagon and looked at the apple trees. The Creek man invited Dano to camp with them.

John said he was going to shoot a buffalo. They had seen a herd about a mile from the Creek camp, and John had been wanting to hunt another one. He had a rifle and powder. The Creek didn’t have any gunpowder. Some of the men took bows and arrows and went with John. They were agricultural Indians, but they hunted as well, just as the Wichita had.

 John led them back along the animal trail they had followed to the Creek camp. The buffalo had moved toward a stream, and the hunting party was down wind, guided by the Creek chief Totemo. John liked Totemo, who spoke English, and later consider him a friend.

John crept slowly forward, and the grazing bull he was after did not seem disturbed. At 50 yards, he shot the buffalo above the right, front leg. It was a lung shot and the bull immediately spit blood. The bull stamped the ground, then dug and threw dirt in the air with his horns. John thought it an amazing sight and stood transfixed. The other buffalo were alarmed and ran off.

The bull charged John. For a second, mesmerized by the beauty of the running bull, John watched. Behind the bull there was a perfect blue sky, then brown-golden prairie grass, then fast, churning legs and the frightening bearded face of the buffalo. Charging him.

John pulled out his Walker Colt. Being a man of numbers, he knew the cylinder held six .44-caliber bullets. The lead weighed 220 grains each. The powder charge was 50 grains of black powder. John had never considered he might be charged by a buffalo. He didn’t know what the gun would do.

He fired two bullets into the head of the buffalo, then two into the chest, and the last two on the right shoulder. At least, these were the places he aimed for. He could hear Creek spoken behind him. He could hear the thundering sound of the buffalo’s hooves until the buffalo dropped, dead, right in front of John. A Creek boy ran up to John and began talking rapidly, but John had no idea what he was saying.

Suddenly he was very tired. He noticed there were arrows in the buffalo so some of the Creek had let go at the charging buffalo. Totemo, who had seen everything, stool beside him and began to laugh. “That pistol so loud, everyone in Nebraska hear,” he said.

John smiled. He sat in the grass a few minutes and felt his strength returning while the Creek women began to cut up the buffalo. Having recovered, John joined in to help. The Creek men loaded the bundles of meat on some horses. The Indians sang a happy song on the way back to camp.

Back at camp, Dano heard the story of the charging buffalo from Totemo, the camp spokesman and leader. Dano asked John about it. “I was afraid when I started that fight this morning,” John said, “and I was afraid when that buffalo charged me. It is dangerous out here on the plains and I hope I survive it.” John laughed, but he meant it. Dano could tell.

Chapter six

The mules the men purchased were both a slightly lighter color than Wild Bill and Sassy Sue. They were young, only a year old, mules being in demand for the Oregon Trail, but one could see both would fill out. They were not as well trained, but by the time they got to southern Nebraska, they were working well. The wagon was not heavy so it was good training for them, a good choice for the Emporium owner to make on John and Dano’s behalf. Because of Dano’s belief in global warming via horse flatulence, both men had walked.

“I was thinking about the fight yesterday,” Dano said. “I think a fight was inevitable, but the way you made it happen was sudden. I think you already had a plan before the fight. First you hit his knee with the piece of firewood, then you hit his head. You finished him off so there was no chance he could hurt you.”

“I was lucky,” John said. “I’ve always been lucky. But yes, I planned the fight. I could tell he was a slave-stater by the way he talked. You know, Kansas and Missouri have been fighting a border war for some time. I knew I had to do it, so if one must fight, the best thing to do is strike the first blow.”

“OK,” Dano said, “but how did you know you’d have to fight?”

“He was chasing the woman around. She made it clear she did not appreciate the attention. Maybe he was planning to rape her. Also, there are good people in the South, but something about being around slavery dehumanizes some men.”

“It surprises me how quickly you worked all that out,” Dano said. “That’s why I’m asking.”

“As I said, we have a border war with Missouri over the slavery issue. I have an older friend, who raises horses in Lawrence. At times, he has to work with hard men. He told me to always strike first. Unfortunately, I believe the world is violent. That’s not a recipe for happiness, but it works for survival.”

Dano frowned. He was trying to build some bridges in the world. John’s world view did not agree with his, but Dano knew the fight would have come to him at Dell’s Tavern, and in southern Nebraska, and it was possible he could have been on the wrong end of both fights. John also had a theory that white men’s diseases were deadly to indigenous people so genocide was more likely than a peaceful cultural transformation to so-called white society.

John knew Dano would want some time alone with the Creek people. He thought he might be lonely for a while. Again, like last summer, Dano didn’t want the responsibility for the wagon or the mules; these were always John’s responsibility. They unloaded the wagon and John made plans to leave the next morning. A Creek boy, Wind, maybe 15, was going with John so he would know how to find him when it came time to leave, after the harvest.

Dano had told John one professor found his list of 150 Wichita words and a description of the people and the language inadequate. Dano intended to made a dictionary of maybe 500 words and some kind of guide to the grammar of the language. Also it was important to Dano to successfully plant the trees. He felt they would be a great benefit someday to the Creek settlement.

John thought maybe Dano’s teachers weren’t impressed with his first expedition, though John considered it to be a success. A modest but significant first step. He didn’t know anyone who would have camped with Indians for an entire season.

Dano was going to make more of an effort this time to document what he was doing. John also knew it was hard to apply English grammar to a new language. He didn’t say anything. He wanted only to be supportive of Dano.

John and Wind journeyed for two short days and found a pond fed by a natural spring. There was a clearing on the high side of the pond, and John felt he could do no better. Wind bid him good-bye and John began to make a semi-permanent camp. Without Dano present, and Wind knowing little English, John began talking to the mules again. John felt it bonded him to the animals, but he couldn’t know for sure. He had plenty of food and built a shelter for the mules and a separate one for himself.

After a few days, Wind came back with many of the children. John guessed that Indians gave children more freedom than white parents. Again, it was interesting that he didn’t know if this was true. Wind had apparently bragged up the pond and the children wanted to swim. It was a hot spring day and the children were soon shouting with glee. John noticed the older children supervising the younger ones. The younger children swam naked, but the older ones, boys and girls, wore loincloths.

While they swam, John prepared food. He had buffalo jerky, seasoned with salt and pepper, fried potatoes, fresh flatbread. There were 10 children, the youngest, probably 5, was Skeeter, a girl. She was immediately trying to speak English. She said, “John’s pond OK.” She pronounced John as Yon. John enjoyed having the children around for the day. They petted the mules and chased round in the woods. The next morning, they went home.

John had a good supply of meat. He especially liked the buffalo meat. However, his mother had told him to mix in some vegetables so he began more seriously pursuing them on this trip. He knew about many plants, among them sunflower seeds, mulberries, sand plums, morel mushrooms, wild rose, yucca, dandelions, chickweed, common purslane, asparagus, common nettle and garlic mustard. During the spring and summer months, he found as many as he could.

He used the chicory leaves as the base of a salad. He knew he could chop up chicory roots as a coffee substitute, but he didn’t like chicory coffee.

He hunted for meat and skins. He had become pretty good at preparing skins the previous summer and carried salt with him for that purpose. The pond drew animals, but John didn’t like to shoot an animal that was drinking water. He would wait and find them later on the plain. He could’ve collected more skins, but he would use up his meat supply before hunting for another animal. Lewis and Clark found the plains to be a bounty for wildlife, and John agreed.

In June it was very hot and the children came over again. John had found sand plums and made a cobbler, which was popular, and cooked meat, eggs, beans and bread. He provided lots of food as he enjoyed having the children around. There were 14 children this time, all the children in the Creek settlement.

Skeeter was back, of course. She had learned “John’s pond good.” Later that day, she said, “Food good.” John found it amusing to have such a young friend and all the other children laughed when she talked and, being shy, repeated the English words to themselves.

John said, “How many languages do you speak? Do you speak English?”

“Yes,” Skeeter said.

“Do you speak Spanish?” John said.

“Yes,” Skeeter said. John knew the Creek had lived in Texas. It was likely she had heard Spanish words.

Now it was a joke and the children could not hide their enthusiasm for whatever came next. John said, “Do you speak French?” Skeeter laughed and shook her head.

“Do you speak German?”

She shook her head no again.

John said, “Do you speak Swahili?”

Her eyes lit up at the sound of this word. Skeeter said yes.

John laughed so loud it startled the children, who then began to laugh, having immediately understood the joke. “Skeeter speaks Swahili. That is so interesting. She is very smart. Skeeter smart.”

The children stayed for a day, and John prepared food all day while the children swam, petted the mules and played or napped in the woods. It was a comfortable existence. The next day they would leave.

With the hot weather, they returned within a few days and John and Skeeter had a similar conversation. When John asked if Skeeter spoke Swahili, the children could hardly wait for Skeeter to say the punchline, yes.

But now she added, “Skeeter smart.”

John smiled. “Yes, Skeeter is a smart girl.”

John found the summer to be very busy. He hunted a little, but when the children came, which was often, he would cook as much food as he could. They would make the trip starting early in the morning on the long summer days. They would arrive about noon, swim and spend the day, and return to the settlement the next day. John always asked Skeeter how many languages she spoke. All the children learned some English that summer, and they taught John some Creek. He would practice it on days when he was waiting on their return. John was amazed at how slim and strong the children appeared that summer. The people who lived on the American plain were healthy, he decided.

At the start of July, the children returned. Wind told John that Dano asked that he return to the Creek settlement. The next day the children and teen-agers left. It took John a full day to break camp, and he made the trip the next day in one long journey instead of two easy days. He saw at Dano’s camp that he was keeping company with the pretty Creek woman who had been chased round by Bear. He laughed. Dano did get around. He liked women.

John’s recent, happy existence was about to come to an end. As he rode into the Creek camp, he noticed many sad faces. Wind, who had always been so friendly, looked at John in a way that said the smile on his face, John’s, would soon be gone, too.

Dano knew of John’s popularity with the children, who begged to go swimming any time it was in the slightest bit hot, which was all the time. Dano’s girlfriend, Birdsong, had been told the long-standing joke about Skeeter speaking Swahili. She relayed to Dano the joke in bits and pieces over the past four months. Dano was learning Creek, and Birdsong was learning English.

Dano quickly went out and greeted John. The mules seemed heathy and ready for travel. John was fit and tan. He had a stack of animal hides ready for sale. He had a big smile; he had enjoyed his time in Nebraska.

“You look fit, John,” Dano said. “It is truly good to see you. However, I have bad news that can’t wait. Skeeter died last night. She was such a lovely little girl, and everyone knows you were her friend.”

“I knew something was wrong. Wind looked at me with the longest face when I arrived in camp.”

“You know there are wagon tracks all over this country, from the Oregon Trail, and cholera has been a problem,” Dano said. “It’s the swampy drainage of the Platte. Maybe she got it in one of the pools of brackish water. Anyway, she had pain in her digestive system when she came back, then diarrhea, then convulsions and vomiting. She turned blue within a day and by night, last night, she was dead. So far no one else seems to have it.”

“My mother and I read about Dr. Snow’s studies of cholera in London. He identified it as bad water, part of it possibly exposure to sewage,” John said. “My mother and I kind of believe in germ theory. She used to make her students wash their hands over and over during the day.”

John unhitched the wagon, brushed the mules and staked them to long ropes with access to shade. He then walked to the house of Skeeter’s family. Skeeter was on a blanket on the floor in a red dress with a beaded necklace round her neck. John looked at her thick, black hair, perfect brown skin, thin legs that John knew were strong enough to walk for miles or swim all day.

His mother’s school charged tuition, and a lot of the students were from wealthy families. John had been thinking of maybe getting Skeeter into the school when she was a few years older. He looked at the mother, who was sad, and said “Sorry.” He looked at the father and said the same. They both nodded. It was not a time when there was a lot to discuss. John couldn’t speak enough Creek to express much else.

John joined Dano and Birdsong by the small fire outside. In the valley were two long rows of apple trees. They were at the edge of a small, wooded area. The young trees had basket-like sleeves, which protected them from black bears, who like to scratch small trees and kill them. Dano said the Creek women had thought up the idea and made the reed sleeves. He said he was confident the Creek would continue to water the trees and that they would eventually be prosperous for the farming community. John nodded.

There was not much to be done. The trees had been planted and the maize harvest, Indian corn, was in. Everyone was sad because of the death of Skeeter, and Dano and Birdsong were additionally burdened by the fact Dano was leaving. He said he had to go back to Harvard to get his doctorate. John wondered if this was an excuse, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything at this particular moment. His mind was blank and he was sad.

The journey back was particularly sad. Dano was sad about leaving Birdsong, and John was sad the little Creek girl had died. The mules were in high spirits, anxious to pull the wagon, which held only Dano’s camping gear, John’s kit and a stack of furs.

Chapter seven

The wind was gentle and cooling on the hot summer morning. One would sweat, and the wind would dry it off. The tall grass made a faint whispering sound that was pleasant to the ear. The noise of a rattle stopped Dano. John heard it, then saw the snake. It was right in front of Dano.

“First, I’m going to settle the mules,” John said.

“I’m not moving,” Dano said. The snake sat in a coil, head up poised to strike, rattling its tail. The snake might have been 6-foot-long, and it hissed. There was a rattle, a constant shaking, intermittent hisses and the sound of the breeze rustling the grass.

“The snake may have 12 rattles on its tail,” John said. “A snake molts, sheds its skin, and every time it does it grows a rattle, but you can’t tell the age of a snake by the number of rattles because sometimes they break off, like a toenail.”

“Yeah, feel free to take your time,” Dano said. He was being sarcastic, trying to be funny, but he didn’t move. He didn’t know if the snake could sense movement or heat, or both, but he knew it could attack within a second. Not enough time to anticipate its strike.

The snake, a western diamondback, had a diamond-like design on its back and was colored black, brown and white. Dano noticed its vertical pupils, like a cat’s eyes. With its flickering tongue, and the look of the eyes, the viper freaked him out a little. Dano would come to believe snakes were was the most under-rated danger on the Great Plains.

John settled Donna. “Eaaasy giiirl, no problem.” He set the brake while he was on that side of the wagon. He went over to Jack, who was still jittering back and forth, uneasy. “Eaaasy bud-dy. No problems here.” He said the words slowly and in a soothing tone of voice. With the brake set, John felt he had calmed the mules enough to avoid disaster.

He went to the back of the wagon and got a shovel. Dano kept the tools in good order. The blade of the shovel had been sharpened.

The snake was immediately in front of Dano. It flickered its tongue. Maybe from instinct, it didn’t slither away. Dano was perfectly still. John made a half circle, approaching the snake from behind. He swung the shovel and hit the snake in the head. Stunned, it lay flat for a moment, and John chopped off the head with the blade of the shovel.

“Don’t go near it for a minute,” John said. “My friend had a dog once. After killing a rattler, the dog jumped forward to investigate. The snake head bit him on the nose, out of reflex. The dog died from the strike.”

Dano laughed. “I’m in no hurry to examine that creepy thing.”

Later John threw the snake’s body in the wagon, and cooked and ate the meat in the evening. It was a light-weight, white meat, and both enjoyed it as a nice change.

In Kansas City, Dano paid John, and John purchased the mules and the wagon from Dano to take to his mother’s small farm. Wagons and mules were getting hard to find due to the Oregon Trail. This pair, Donna and Jack, would be healthy and strong for a long time.

John saw Dano off at Westport, and both were in a better mood. Dano said he might come to the Great Plains one more time, and visit friends, or maybe they would go on the Oregon Trail, to Oregon or California. Perhaps, if he got his doctorate, he would take a teaching job somewhere.

John was not bothered by Dano’s indecision. He was going to Lawrence, was going to give his mother some money, and he was sure the children at his mother’s school would like the mules. He was also sad. He thought maybe being around his mother for a while would boost his mood. He would tell her about Skeeter.

Before he went to Lawrence, there was work Heck Smith wanted at the Emporium. John checked into a hotel and spent a day with Heck discussing the inventory of his business and business practices. John walked slowly to the hotel after his day with Heck. He hadn’t realized it, but the trip had made him tired. He had tried to give a good effort at the Emporium, but he didn’t have his old physical energy. He was hoping the eat dinner, drink a beer and maybe sleep 12 hours. Or spend an entire day lazing around to recover.

Bear, the Missouri ruffian he had fought in Nebraska, spied him and began to follow him in the street. He was angry about the beating he had taken. Bear did not think it was a fair fight. Had he asked, John would have told him it was not a fair fight. He had a piece of lumber to knock him out and had no interest in a fair fight.

As Bear walked down the street, he had to decide whether to attack in the moment or plan something out. Bear was feeling anxious, excited. He didn’t want to make a plan. He was shadowing John down the street in Kansas City. Now he ran at him, as hard as he could go.

John heard the steps a few feet before Bear got to him. He turned and crossed his arms. Bear hit him hard with his shoulder. John bounced and slid on the hard gravel road. His hip hurt and he had bloody scratches on his arm. Worse, the wind had been knocked out of him and he couldn’t breathe for a few moments.

The blow also hurt Bear. He waited a minute on the ground, the pain in his chest unbearable. “Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn,” Bear said.

They both recovered about the same time and Bear was determined to give John a beating. He jumped up, grabbed John’s hair and struck him in the jaw. Bear was a good five inches taller and 50 pounds heavier. John’s first thought was the fight could not go on long or he would be severely beaten. There was a knife on Bear’s belt and John saw it. He knew it was in his best interest to end this fight quickly, before Bear could break something or knock out teeth or an eye.

Bear grabbed John’s hair and punched him again. It was a hard hit and hurt. But at the same time, John took the knife out of the sheath and jabbed it into Bear’s thigh. It was a seven-inch blade and Bear howled. John quickly backed away from him about 20 feet. “This man needs a doctor,” he yelled to people on the street who were watching, but he got no closer to Bear. He later explained the situation to the town constable, who was a reasonable man.

Chapter eight

Life in Lawrence was good for John. The school his mother April started was earning a reputation for good scholarship, and she was able to charge more tuition. She hired a repairman and a teaching assistant. It eased her workload.

John’s mother was now dating the lawyer Todd Stowe. John liked him well enough. John heard Todd and his mother joke often, and she seemed happy.

John kept the mules on the two-acre parcel on which the school house sat. All mules were valuable now that there was so much traffic on the Oregon Trail. John liked Jack and Donna and had no intention of selling them. He expected Dano to show up for one more spring trip at least.

Meanwhile, he was teaching math at the school. The young mules were popular at the school. Money that John made in business consulting, guiding Dano, the fur trade, went into his mother’s account. They had pooled money for years. They had purchased land, which they rented out. They kept some gold in a safe. April kept some money at the bank, a small amount but she paid expenses at the school in this way. John often advised people to preserve wealth by buying land and keeping gold. He advised land should produce an income, either through agriculture, or home or business rent.

John himself was keeping company with Alice Colson. She was his age and they dated and spent some evenings necking, which John enjoyed.

He had had a bold woman, Lyla Flace, two summers ago in Kansas City. She promised him she had a method to keep from getting pregnant and it was a summer of fun and new knowledge for John.

Lyla would mix a mild solution of sodium carbonate and water, douching with it after sex. John looked it up. Sodium carbonate is an odorless, water-soluble salt that yielded an alkaline solution in water. John didn’t know if the solution worked as birth control, or if he was just lucky. He liked Lyla, but was not ready to marry.

It was also said the Indians had a method of birth control, but this was not something John was able to find out about. Vulcanized rubbers, a barrier method, was available, but John had never tried it. In general, it was hard to find reliable information on birth control.

Alice didn’t make any promises about keeping from getting pregnant. It was frustrating for John, just kissing and touching, but he wasn’t quite ready for marriage with her, either. He laughed when he thought about this. It was the same thing he had been thinking since he met Lyla, and that was two years ago.

Regardless, it was an enjoyable fall and April, Todd and Alice enjoyed stories about John’s adventures on the Great Plains. April liked to have John at home to make the house busy, and she felt he was a better math teacher than she was. He could explain things, and was creative in the use of graphs, fractions and percentages. He could think of examples where math skills were helpful and made them into story problems. He had good energy. He could get the students excited.

John was an optimistic person and always felt as though things would work out. He knew Dano had a plan for planting season. Beyond that, something would work out. Settling down, making money, things had a way of working out. He wrote Dano in the fall about his fight in the streets of Kansas City with Bear.

Dano wrote back to say he felt he had more work to do with the Indians, so John should plan on him coming in March. He said he failed to impress them at Harvard. The professors were discussing his situation and he was not optimistic.

One said Dano’s language skills were not advanced enough to provide a serious description of the language, a useable grammar guide. Dano had a list of 500 Creek words and pages of information on how members of the small farming community interacted.

Dano’s English grammar was acceptable, but he couldn’t understand Creek well enough to describe the structure of the language. Another professor was not impressed with his agricultural skills. He said the Indians in South America might be a better study as they were more advanced. John could tell this irritated Dano to no end. He couldn’t afford to go to South America to study the Incas nor spare the time for long travel.

In March, Dano arrived in Westport with ventilated boxes of bees. The bees were crated up, and there was honey inside for the queen and the working bees. Dano said they would need to be broken out of the wood boxes within a month. John and Dano loaded the crates onto the wagon. This was the lightest load yet for the wagon and the mules. Dano announced they were headed for Nebraska and his Creek friends.

“I thought you might go back and look for Itka,” John said.

“I’d like to, for sure. But the bees will benefit the apple trees, and you know I had a pretty strong attachment to Birdsong,” Dano said. “My life is a little more complicated than I want. Maybe Itka has a baby. Maybe Birdsong. I don’t know. But the agricultural outreach will benefit the Creek the most. And, Birdsong is my favorite. Please don’t make any judgments. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

John laughed. “No problem.”

Both Itka and Birdsong were pretty. Itka was slender, while Birdsong had well defined muscles and strong legs. Birdsong had been able to run easily with the boys in the tribe. Also she was a joker. She liked to laugh, tease and play. John could imagine they had a fun summer. Both were hard workers, according to Dano.

“We’ll try and follow the same route as last year,” John said. “A few weeks in Kansas, then cross the Republican River north into Nebraska.”

“Also, you know, Professor T. Laundry Hickerson at Harvard believes bees are endangered. So the bees I’ve purchased are to breed up the local stock in the Great Plains. The bees should thrive pollinating the apple trees. My plan I think, put all together, makes sense. I always want to be able to speak to the Indians, but I want a doctorate in agriculture, too. That’s my specialty. I think I’ve learned a lot, but if they don’t give me a doctorate this time I’m either going to California or Oregon or back to New Hampshire. I’m not some rich kid who can hang around Boston Common forever.”

John nodded that he understood. They bought food and started out, but a heavy rain kept them bogged down about 10 miles out of Kansas City. They had a tarp for the mules and a tent for themselves, and spent a few days mostly inside the tent watching it rain outside. After three days the rain stopped and they were able to travel. By this time, everything was wet. Wet clothes were not comfortable, but they also didn’t hurt anything.

They traveled along, trying to dry things out and stay fed but not enjoying themselves as they had in the past. In his spare time, John oiled the guns. The first two trips were enjoyable to think about. Because of the wet weather, everything had mud on it and it seemed they would never feel clean and dry again.

The mules pulled the wagon with the boxes of bees with ease. Finally they had a sunny day and rolled through some hills into a valley meadow full of wildflowers. Both men felt their moods lift. John noticed there were bees of every size and description in that valley full of wildflowers. They could see them because they were walking, not riding high in the wagon seat. It made John laugh, seeing the variety of bees and the wildflowers flashing all colors, but Dano didn’t ask what was funny or say that he noticed the thriving population of bees.

They camped in a nice location next to a clear stream that evening. Dano said it was the prettiest day he had seen on the Great Plains. They ate beans, bacon, flat bread and then a dessert of apple cobbler.

“Despite the rain, then the mud, this still might turn out to be our best trip into the Great Plains,” Dano said. “I feel sorry for the people who haven’t seen it.

“I’ll tell you something else, which may surprise you,” Dano said. “I’ve been thinking for nine months about the buffalo. I can’t wait to see them again. It seems to me there is a perfect balance between the buffalo, wolves and Indians. To me, the buffalo are the rulers of the plains. If we get a chance, I’d like to shoot one this year. If that’s ok with you.”

“Sure,” John said. “We’ll need meat soon. You can shoot a buff with my rifle and I’ll back you up. I’m sure we’ll get a chance.”

The camp fire burned down and both men slept soundly. John never worried at night as the mules would bray if anything unfamiliar approached. They had a touch of the wild in them.

In the morning, over coffee, Dano talked about the women he had known. A white woman in New Hampshire when he was young, the black woman in the South, his first lover Itka, and now he was looking forward to seeing Birdsong. Dano was thinking what he could do with his agricultural knowledge. He thought of a farm store, a consulting business building terraces for farmers. He thought of having an orchard and garden with all kinds of fresh fruits and vegetables for sale all spring, summer and fall. Something always coming into season.

John didn’t say much, but he enjoyed his friend’s optimism. Dano had been more open and expansive about his life and opinions than ever before. The weather was perfect and John was thinking his life was perfect.

John himself had some fantasies about settling with a woman and enjoying the fruits of a relationship, the fun and the pleasure of it. They observed a twister, a little dirt devil, shake and destroy the green leaves and branches of a sand plum bush. “Most unusual,” Dano said.

As the day wore on the weather became hot and gusty, which was common. John walked with the mules. Dano was a little ahead. A Comanche Indian rode over a little hill. At least it looked like the same Comanches they had seen two summers before. He sat on his horse a moment, then drew an arrow. Words were in John’s mouth but he couldn’t get them out in time. His mouth was too dry to shout a warming. The Indian shot an arrow into Dano. John drew his Walker Colt. The Indian might shoot him with an arrow, but John was confident he could kill the Indian, too.

Dano struggled for a minute as John watched the Indian. Dano held onto the arrow while red blood covered his chest and ran down his abdomen. Blood gurgled in his throat. Two more Indians rode over the hill and looked at the suffering white man; Dano was trying to breathe, still on his feet, and John held the Walker Colt in his hand. The two Indians looked over at the wagon and one said something to the other, but John did not understand it. He imagined it was something to do with the lack of anything valuable in the wagon to steal. There were 10 boxes of bees and a few tools. The two Indians crossed over the hill and out of sight.

The first Indian, John was sure now they were Comanche, rode back over the hill. He was not going to challenge the white man’s big pistol. Dano dropped to the ground.

John put the Walker Colt in its holster and ran to Dano, who by now was silent, the arrow protruding from his chest. His eyes were shut and he was barely breathing, and then not at all. A trail of blood trickled from his mouth. He looked peaceful. He looked young and almost appeared to have a smile on his face. It seemed sudden. That was the reputation of the Comanche. Kill first and ask questions later.

It seemed to John he could see immediately the blood drain out of Dano’s face. He was immediately pale white. John couldn’t believe his friendship with Dano was over. One arrow shot. Dano hadn’t even tried to jump out of the way. It had happened too quickly.

John didn’t consider going after the Comanches. They are a warring tribe. Even if John could kill the man who shot the arrow, one of the others might shoot him with arrows. It was simply Dano’s bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

John unhitched the wagon, put the mules on tethers, sat in the shade and rolled and smoked a cigarette. He took a shovel and easily dug a nice, deep grave. John thought Dano would have appreciated being buried in such good soil.

 He quoted the gospel from John. John the Apostle. It was April’s favorite for a funeral. John had never needed a scripture for a funeral before. He liked his mother’s choice just fine, though.

“I regret having to do this,” John said. “I’m going to say some words over your grave. I might not get this word for word.”

He paused. Only the mules were listening. “God so loved the world he gave his only son so that whosoever believes in him will have eternal life.

“There are many rooms in my father’s house. I would not tell you that if it wasn’t true. I’m going there to prepare a place for you.”

John shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “That’s the part that works for you,” John said. “Some times you had different ideas, but if anyone gives you a hard time in heaven, there will still be a room for you. I’ll miss you, Dano.”

 John was alert and full of energy, despite the digging, and he hooked up the mules and continued to travel toward the fruit trees. Driving the mules from the wagon seat, he cried for a few minutes. He was sorry for himself, more than Dano. He had hoped to have many years and adventures with his friend.

Members of the Creek tribe were sad for the loss of Dano, but they had not seen him for almost a year so the mood was not overwhelming. They performed a ceremony and feast for him. The trees were growing well, and the settlement in general looked prosperous. Birdsong tried to talk to him, stayed near him the entire time he was in camp, but her English had faded and John’s Creek was almost non-existent.

John broke open the bee boxes and set up the bees, gave tools to the Creek men, and started back to Lawrence. The Creek encouraged him to stay, but he decided to deliver the news of Dano’s death to the family in person. He was sad and this seemed to be his chore, his obligation, though he didn’t mind it. He thought it would ease his mind to see Dano’s family.

He took the wagon and mules to his mother’s home and school in Lawrence. He collected Dano’s personal items and took a riverboat to Saint Louis, and various trains to the New Hampshire coast. At the Wind Point train station, he walked till he came to the beach, where he saw a large, blue hotel and restaurant, Comfort Cove. He had two suitcases with Dano’s things, and a suitcase of his own. He felt as though he was traveling with a lot of stuff. He registered at the hotel and asked for Jane or Joseph, Dano’s parents, or his sister, Julie. He was given a room and told Tall Bob was in the bar. He was told Jane, Joseph and Julie could be found in the dining room when the evening meal was served.

John took the luggage to his room and went to the bar. He assumed the man behind the bar was Tall Bob. He drank a beer, noticing that Tall Bob had a glass of Scotch behind the counter. Unsure of Bob’s status in the family, John drank his beer. He only told Tall Bob he liked this view of the ocean. Bob appeared friendly, but slightly drunk. It was 3 in the afternoon.

Tall Bob was tall, slender with thin, slicked-back hair, which he was quickly losing. He had a prominent nose. John was fairly sure a stiff breeze could blow him over. He was not bad looking, and mostly he smiled, making him appear friendly. He was certainly tall. John would have guessed he was two or three inches taller than Bear.

After the beer, John looked in the restaurant area. Julie was sitting at a table doing some book work. They were alone in the restaurant. John walked over.

“My name’s John Brown Jones,” he said. “I’m sorry to be here, under the circumstances. May I talk to you? Are you Dano’s sister, Julie?”

She was pretty, wearing a cheerful yellow dress. “I know who you are,” she said. “I have a bad feeling because I thought you were with Dano on the Great Plains.”

“I was,” John said. “I’m sorry to inform you Dano is dead. A Comanche Indian shot him in the chest with an arrow three weeks ago. He died quickly and I don’t think he suffered too much. I buried him and got here as soon as I could.”

“Oh, my god,” Julie said. She was sitting and John stood at the table. John could see the family resemblance. Julie was pretty in the way Dano was handsome. John had come partly to comfort the family. He knew they would want to know about Dano’s movements on the plains. But also he had come because he was in mourning. He was surprised at how sad he was about Dano’s death.

Julie looked straight ahead for a moment. Her eyes glistened with tears. Then she looked at John. The sadness disappeared.

“My god,” she said. “It was good of you to come. I can’t believe you came, really. We must go tell my parents immediately.”

“Of course,” John said.

In the kitchen, Jane and Joseph sat in chairs in a corner, waiting for the busy evening rush. Jane used the time to organize her mind, think about what she had to do to prepare dinner for all the guests. Joseph liked to rest his legs for a few minutes. He knew how dog-tired his feet would be after the evening shift. He was drinking a cup of coffee.

“This is John,” Julie said, “and he has bad news about Dano. Dano died from an Indian arrow about three weeks ago.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Jane screamed no. Joseph held her. John and Julie went into the restaurant and got some hard-back wood chairs. Julie went to get Uncle Dan, Coco, Ricky and Susan. Jane was crying. Joseph had a sad look on his face. John sat with them.

Dan came in. He had grey hair and gold-rim glasses. He looked like a university professor. He was a slender but strong man, vigorous for his age. Coco was Mexican, half his age, and very pretty. Ricky, 5, and Susan, 3, seemed energetic. Julie told Dan and Coco the news. Ricky and Susan were introduced to John, but it took a minute to place him.

“John, like Hell in the Dell,” said Susan. She had heard Ricky use the word hell but didn’t completely understand it was a curse word. Ricky hadn’t said “Hell in the Dell” when they were in the company of adults.

“Hell is a cuss word,” Julie said. “You’re not allowed to say it.”

“Are you talking about the fight at Dell’s Tavern?” John said.

“Yes, they heard about that old pioneer who wanted to fight Dano,” Julie said. “Dano’s stories about your fights have become a major source of entertainment around here. We heard in depth about the first fight with Bear, and of course a little about the second fight when he was stuck with the knife.”

“I liked when you whacked Bear around with that stick and kicked him out of camp,” Ricky said. He made some movements with a small stick of wood he had picked up by the stove.”

John laughed. It was a funny feeling. These people knew who he was though he had never seen them before.

Jane took the stick away from Ricky. “You’re going to hit your sister with that stick. It’ll be an accident, but we’ll still have to listen to all the crying.” She put the stick back on the wood pile.

“Dano might have made more of those fights than was really there,” John said with a smile.

Uncle Dan asked for details of what happened, and John told them the brief story of Dano’s death. “It happened so quickly, and wasn’t even a fight. Just one arrow shot. I don’t know how you feel about this, but Dano wouldn’t have wanted me to seek revenge on the Indians.

“The first year we were on the plains, some Comanche and some Blue Coats were camping together and the Indians gave a riding exhibition. They would ride with a heel holding them onto a horse, leaning under the neck of the horse, and hit a moving target with an arrow. Dano was mesmerized. He told me if he was killed by a Comanche, to tell his family they were the most fascinating race of people on the planet and he immediately forgives them.

“I cringed when he said that. I’m not superstitious, but I don’t believe in tempting fate either. But Dano was mighty impressed with those Comanches. The fact is, he talked about Indians all the time. He liked the diversity they brought, but he knew they were going to face hard times as the West gets settled by white men.”

“Dano was a good boy,” Dan said. He had tears in his eyes. Joseph had gone from stoic to quietly crying.

“Maybe I’ve lived too long,” Joseph said.

Some people came into the restaurant and John realized it was the rest of the kitchen staff, the non-family employees. Jane, Joseph and Coco began preparing the kitchen for the evening meal. The children went to play behind the reception desk. Uncle Dan invited John to join him in the bar for a drink.

Uncle Dan told Tall Bob the news and they drank a toast to Dano. Looking out the window of the tavern, John could see people arriving at the restaurant. The window also looked out over the ocean. It was a pretty, late-April day and John was impressed by the view. He had seen the ocean before, but he thought this was certainly a fine location for a hotel and restaurant.

Dan and John had dinner at a table in the kitchen. John went to his room to clean up, but Dan said the family would probably like to meet later in the bar and talk about Dano. He did not expect anyone to sleep well for a while.

Later, sitting in the bar with a cup of coffee, Dan told John about his business rendering whale oil into fuel for lamps. Also he had a company that made a variety of lubricants. He purchased the hotel and restaurant, but Jane owned it.

“My sister, the mother of Jane and Diane, died 20 years ago,” he explained. “Diane lives in New York with her husband, an architect and a man I really like. Jospeh and Jane are the parents of Dano and Julie. Ricky and Susan belong to Coco and myself,” Dan said.

The children, Ricky and Susan, were light skinned with midnight-black hair. “I think they are stunningly beautiful children,” John said.

Dan nodded. “It’s lucky to have a second family. I’ve always been lucky.” It was an interesting statement. John had often said the same thing about himself.

The kitchen closed and was cleaned. Julie came out to the bar with a tray of desserts and more coffee. Tall Bob closed the bar and everyone sat round a big table. Some drank coffee, some ate desserts. Tall Bob had a whisky. They talked about Dano, told story after story. Joseph said the name Dano was his idea. He thought it showed flair, but Dano had never seemed enthusiastic about it, Joseph said.

Jane said girls were always coming over to visit the young Dano as he worked in the garden. “He was a very nice, popular boy,” she said. After a while, the children Ricky and Susan fell asleep. The family agreed to plan arrangements for a funeral for Dano in two days if the Lutheran priest was available.

Joseph, Julie, Tall Bob, Dan and John drank a few shots of whisky. Julie brought out a pitcher of water and some glasses. No one seemed to want to go to bed, even when the stories had run out. Tall Bob was quite drunk, Dano noticed, but he was not talkative or obnoxious. John would have been drunk, but he was constantly eating. At dinner, Julie had kept bringing out food to the table. During the story-telling, he had eaten three desserts because he wanted to try them. All were delicious.

The next morning, John helped in the kitchen washing dishes and busing tables. It was agreed he would stay long enough to attend the funeral. The family liked having him there. He played with the children at times. He walked on the beach a few times with Julie. The weather remained nice. Julie said the busy season at the hotel would begin in force in June.

The hotel and restaurant closed, and the funeral was formal. The reception was held at the restaurant and many town people were there. It was friendly and John was introduced to many people, including friends of Dano. A former girlfriend of Dano’s, Samantha, got drunk and attached herself to John for part of the afternoon, which Julie thought was funny. Finally Samantha went home and Julie teased John about it.

Tall Bob was drinking heavily behind the bar, and John and Julie took a walk on the beach. The guests had gone. Everyone changed out of their formal clothes. Julie announced she would make dinner for the family about 7. John noticed she was wearing one of Dano’s shirts, which John had brought home.

At the end of the long beach on Wind Point, out of the sight of town, John and Julie held hands. “We are very sad, but you saved the family with your presence, Julie said. “I will never forget your kindness in helping our family with this tragedy.”

“I couldn’t imagine writing a letter that would describe all the detail of Dano’s journeys onto the plains. Certainly a telegram seemed insufficient,” John said. “I like to travel, and have been not only on the plains, but to New Orleans once and New York on another trip. So, I couldn’t say to myself, well, it’s too far to go to deliver a message.

“Then, finally, and this is the important part, I was so charmed by Dano that I felt the huge loss. I was beside myself with grief. I thought maybe I’d feel better if I came myself. I liked Dano so much, I even got wrapped up in that doctorate business. I was kind of mad the one professor said Dano should go study the southern tribes, in South America I mean. That pompous bastard.”

Julie laughed hard. “You don’t even know us, and you’ve already figured out the family dynamics. You know, Dano wasn’t popular at Harvard. Uncle Dan is successful but our family doesn’t have the money those boys at Harvard have. We get rich tourists and I can tell you rich people can be hard to please. Dano didn’t have the right clothes. The boys would go out drinking but Dano wouldn’t go for the simple reason he didn’t have the money. They said he didn’t fit in, that he was odd. He was open minded and explored a lot of whacky ideas to the extreme.”

John laughed.

“You know the horse flatulence story,” Julie said. “That’s what the fight was about in Dell’s Tavern.”

John nodded. It felt odd that Julie was telling him about the fight at Dell’s Tavern. She looked good in Dano’s shirt, and he remembered Dano wearing the shirt many times.

“Damn, I do miss him.” Julie laughed.

They were at the end of the beach. One could have thought they were the only two people on earth. Great sand dunes were behind them. The ocean on another side. A long, curving strip of beach in front.

John liked the crashing sound of the ocean. The endlessness of the sea. It was a great change from the life he had lived. He thought the ocean and everything about the coast was beautiful.

“Dano was like a shiny new thing,” Julie said. “Women liked him. He was pretty in a way, perfect skin, nice hair, a slender body. But he felt he didn’t fit in. He went to the South and told his professors the farming there was antiquated and they ignored him. His knowledge about the Indians was irrelevant to them. He had so many ideas but was unable to do one great thing.

“Nature is not kind to people who are free-thinkers. He had a hard time with normal people, who know life is a bit of work and accept it. Dano needed constantly to be enlightened, educated, excited. Other people aren’t like that. I think he felt lonely.”

“I enjoyed being with him,” John said.

“He liked very much being friends with you. He told dramatic and funny stories about your fights. Ricky and Susan thought you were ten feet tall.”

John and Julie sat on a log watching the ocean for a short time.

“So, if Dano was pretty, what am I?” John said.

Julie laughed. “Not so handsome, but ruggedly handsome in a way I like. The sun has burned your face and you have workman-like hands. You’ll never be a prince, but if I asked you to go into the wild and round up some horses, you’d probably get it done.”

John smiled. “I can work with that. You, by the way, will always be considered pretty. I like your smile, the common-sense way you have with your family, the clever way you run your business.”

They were quiet again for a few minutes. The crashing sound of the ocean waves provided all the noise they needed.

“You’ve observed the other family dynamic, I suppose,” Julie said. “Tall Bob drinks every day, and he’s lazy.”

John nodded. He knew about it.

 He was not surprised when Julie kissed him. He kissed back, too.

Chapter nine

John had been to the bar. It was evening, three days after Dano’s funeral but still he hadn’t found his way home. He bused tables at the restaurant and did dishes. When the work was done, he went and had a glass of whisky. Tall Bob was very drunk. There was a crowd at the bar most nights.

After a drink, John went outside and looked at the ocean, then walked to his room. He was tired. He would read a little and then sleep. When he sat down in the chair to read, there was a knock on the door. Julie came into his room. It was the first time she had been there, alone, with John. She sat on the bed, which made John smile.

“You’re good kitchen help,” she said. “You can stay as long as you want. Already we depend on you,” she said. She was wearing jeans and a nice shirt.

“I’m a little lost, thinking of what to do. I was supposed to spend the summer out on the plains with Dano. Now I’m next to the ocean, no Dano, and I’m enjoying the hospitality and the scenery and I don’t really know what the plan is going forward.”

“That’s funny,” Julie said. “I don’t have a plan either. I’m adrift. The weather is nice, the ocean is pretty, I’m kind of numb sad, but I know life goes on, too.”

“I’m also thinking I enjoy being close to you,” John said.

“I’m thinking the same thing,” Julie said. “Why don’t you get closer, sit down beside me on the bed.”

“Many people would think that improper,” John said. He blew out the lamp and the room was mostly dark. Only the stars outside the window provided any light. “Blowing out the light, sitting on a bed with an attractive woman.” John lay on the bed and kissed her.

“Yes, it would be shocking,” Julie said, pulling him close.

“With me pulling your clothes off and Tall Bob drunk in the bar.”

“The buttons on my blouse seem to be falling open.”

“Yes, everything feels easy, doesn’t it,” John said.

When he awoke in the morning, Julie was gone. He thought he remembered her leaving sometime after they made love, but he wasn’t sure. The long walks on the beach, plus the kitchen work, were making him dead tired at night.

Julie returned to his room a few nights later. They fell into the same easy camaraderie. Julie said Tall Bob was fun when they were younger. He liked to joke. But there weren’t really any jobs at the hotel that he liked, or didn’t mess up, except being a bartender who drank with his customers. Because of Tall Bob’s drinking, the bar broke even, which upset Julie and Jane.

“We’ve never been able to have children,” Julie said. “We don’t know who’s shooting blanks.” She laughed.

“Do you want children?” John said.

“Yes, with the right person, but I’m glad now Bob and I don’t have any children. It will make the divorce easier.”

“Really?” John said. “A divorce?”

“The bar’s crowded all the time, and yet it only breaks even. In my family, we believe in making money. We’re prosperous people. At first, Tall Bob had a drink or two at night. Then he drank more and more. Now he sleeps till noon or 1 p.m., eats and bathes, goes to the bar at 4 and has his eye opener. He’s a mess and we’ve talked about it a hundred times. He’s polite, I’ll say that. He’s never mean or belligerent. He always says he’ll do better, but there’s nothing he likes to do except sit at the bar and drink.”

John nodded.

“Enough of that,” Julie said. “Come over here and say hi to me.” She was sitting on the bed and patted the bed spread. John began kissing her and before long they were tugging at each other’s clothes.

The next day, after the breakfast meals were served and the kitchen cleaned, John began playing with Ricky and Susan.

Ricky had a thin stick. It was about a yard in length. “Show me how you beat up the Bear,” Ricky said.

John laughed. Both Ricky and Susan liked to be chased, and both were fond of wrestling with the adults. John faced him.

“OK, take your stick and tap my knee,” John said. “Not hard now, I don’t want to get hurt.”
            Ricky tapped him on the outside of the knee. “Like that?” Ricky said.

“Yes, just right,” John said. “Then Bear goes like this. ‘Dang you free-state son of a gun I’m going to kill you.’ ” John bent over and grabbed his knee and Ricky and Susan were smiling.

“Now, as I’m bent over, swing up at my head. But easy, it’ll hurt if you swing hard,” John said. Ricky moved the stick gently and tapped John’s forehead.
            John held his head. “Dang you. Gol dern it I’ll kill you,” John said, showing some rage and standing up tall. The children giggled with delight.

“Now, while my hands are up and I’m growling like a bear, whack my ribs under the right arm, then tap my head again,” John said. Ricky was into it now and whacked John hard under the arm.

“Ow,” John said. “Easy Ricky, we’re playing.” Ricky and Susan began laughing. They were laughing so hard they could hardly manage to stand. Then John started laughing. Julie came into the room and asked what was going on.

“Ricky hit John too hard with the stick,” Susan managed to get out. Now Julie was smiling with them.

Ricky sat down, he was laughing so hard. Susan imitated him. She was always shadowing her brother.

Julie stopped laughing first. “Your mother is ready to go home. Go meet her in the kitchen. We’ll see you later. And no hitting people with sticks. We don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“OK,” Ricky said. They went to the kitchen to walk home with Coco.

“I don’t know if we need a tough guy,” Julie said. “Thanks to Dano, you’ve got a little bit of a reputation. He’d tell us about Hell in the Dell, about the fight with Bear, about the buffalo charge. Dano would stretch out the stories and make them tense and then funny. Your legend was big before you ever got here.”

“Even in a civilized place like New Hampshire, you never know when you’ll get in a jam,” John said. “Maybe I should stick around.”

Julie laughed. “Tall Bob asked me this morning when you were leaving. I told him you were good help in the kitchen. He’s jealous.”

“He should be,” John said. “Have time for a walk on the beach?”

“Don’t cause trouble now,” Julie said, but she was smiling. “Tough guy.”

It was a sunny day and they headed to the beach for a walk. John said maybe he should head back to Lawrence. “If you are going to get a divorce, maybe I shouldn’t be around. I don’t want to cause any problems with Tall Bob.”

“I have put us in a risky position,” Julie said. “I feel safe coming to see you at night. Bob’s too drunk to suspect anything, but I think it’s clear to everyone we like each other. Everybody here likes you. I would hate to send you away. I’m afraid you won’t come back.”

“I’ll come back,” John said, “if you invited me. I can always find a way to make a living. I could come back when you’re free and we could make sure we were compatible. And if we are, then I think marriage would be a reasonable course. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. You should make a decision about Tall Bob without me here. Maybe he’ll straighten up if he thinks you’d leave him, and you’d like him again. If I’m here, it’d complicate things.”

Julie sighed. “I do feel confused. I’m sad about Dano and have been happy having you around. I don’t really want you to leave, but I need to work some things out. I’ll write you letters, tell you how I’m doing.”

“That would be good,” John said. “I’ll look forward to it.”

“No matter what, we’ll always be friends,” Julie said. “I’ll never forget you for rescuing the family during our time of great need. Maybe it was wrong of me to come to your bed. I needed a diversion from my grief and I don’t know if it was good judgment, but I enjoyed it and I like you so much. I’m usually more sensible.”

“What happened, happened,” John said. “It was magical for me. I won’t forget it, even if it never happens again.”

“Unbelievable. I cheated on Tall Bob,” Julie said. “I’d tell you I don’t believe in such a thing, but I don’t regret it.”

“I know,” John said. “We got caught up in the romance of it, I think. We were both lonely, sad. I like what you’ve got going here. The hotel and restaurant are good businesses. They require a lot of time, but I’ve found most good business owners work a lot. My mother works long hours to make her school a success.”

“I would love it if I could meet her. Maybe if things turned out right, she could come out and meet everyone. We’ll give her a room with an ocean view.”

“She’s always worked too hard to take vacations, but things are good for us now. We could work it out. Maybe I ought to be off tomorrow.”

“I’m going to visit you tonight,” Julie said.

“I’m glad,” John said.

They were out of view of people on the beach and held hands for a few minutes.

Chapter 10

The entire family, except for Tall Bob, went to the train station with John. There were many tears for Dano. The memory of his time with Dano flooded back to John. He thought about the Indian shooting Dano with an arrow. He had insomnia now, rarely sleeping on the way back, first on the trains and then the riverboat. They were building a railroad all the way to Kansas City.

 In Kansas City, John borrowed a horse from Heck Smith and started the journey to Lawrence, about 30 miles away. The horse had good wind. John thought of the Indians he knew. Totemo, with the Creek, had welcomed Dano to camp with them and had helped John stalk the buffalo. He felt they were friends. Wind, the young boy who traveled with him, John thought of him fondly. The Creek children. He was fond of several of them, and reviewed as many faces and names as he could remember, always coming back to Skeeter.

Always, when he thought of Indians, he thought of the Comanches at the Army camp, the unbelievable riding skills, picking up a 14-foot lance off the ground from the back of a horse, shooting arrows under a horse’s neck, an Indian using his heel to hang on by the ridge of a horse’s spine.

He stayed in a boarding house when he was about 15 miles from home. He didn’t sleep, which was becoming his normal pattern. He thought of his mother encouraging him in algebra, the mastery of which allowed him to apply it to business. His business consulting always seemed to be in demand as he was able to make meaningful graphics and provide other information to help a business evaluate its operation. Thus he was prosperous enough to buy a weapon. He bought the first repeating weapon on the plains, the Walker Colt. He felt the gun saved his life when the Indian appeared with an arrow for Dano.

He rode into Lawrence on the second day. He still wasn’t sleeping, maybe two hours a night if he was lucky. He wasn’t crying, so he didn’t think he was depressed. The not sleeping, though, there was something about it. He didn’t even think it was possible to go so many days without a good night’s sleep. Dano was always on his mind. Dano was the one who had established relationships with Indians. The one who lived with them and sweated with them on the farm. Dano was the one who wanted to help them. Dano, the handsome, lost young man, looking for a place in the world.

When awake at night, he would just stare out a window and think of Dano. Dano didn’t have a straight path forward in life, like John. He was helped by his uncle, but he was an original and he was trying. He was young, energetic, fun. Full of ideas. His death was such a waste. John had the same sequence of thoughts every night.

  Arriving home, John told his mother about the trip. “The family runs a nice hotel and restaurant right on the New Hampshire coast. It was good weather and a pretty place. The family welcomed me, and we all told stories about Dano. I’m glad I went,” John said.

“I thought it was a good decision on your part,” April said. “I can imagine the grief they’re feeling. I can imagine the grief you are feeling. You know I lost a husband at a young age, so I know about it. I think you’re not sleeping because suddenly, after the excitement of seeing a new place and meeting Dano’s family, now you’re depressed. It’s normal.

“Believe it or not, life will continue on. When one of us dies, the world keeps turning. It seems a cruel trick. We want everyone to feel miserable, just like us. But people have jobs to do and supper to cook and chores that need doing. And one day you’ll be back in the flow and remember that you met Dano’s family and that he was a good friend and they were nice people and the ocean was beautiful.”

John smiled, and hugged his mother. He asked April if she had ever gone through days of not sleeping. She said she didn’t remember.

Still, John did not sleep. Going to see Dano’s family, share his grief with them, had resulted in his meeting Julie. This was a good thing, perhaps a life-changing experience. But he refused to think of Dano’s death leading to a good thing. He hated the idea that something good had come out of a funeral.

And yet, every night it was the same pictures, the same conversations, and lead to the same place. John’s life, Dano’s life, the Indians, the arrow shot, the funeral, Julie.

The next day, he was teaching math classes for the various children at the school. One day he hitched up Jack and Donna and took all the children in the wagon for an afternoon ride through Lawrence. It was June, hot weather and long days, and it was odd to be in Lawrence instead of out on the plains. The children celebrated the afternoon away from school. They liked the wagon ride and they loved the mules. John enjoyed it, but could only think of the Creek children swimming in the pond, and of Skeeter. Young people died; it was unfair.

In New Hampshire, Julie told Tall Bob he had to stop drinking if he wanted to continue with the family. He started working at the registration desk. A new bartender was hired, and a rule was enacted that employees could not drink on the job.

Bob did OK during the day, but at night he still had a few drinks, not as much as usual but he liked to sit in a bar and have a drink in the evenings. Summer evenings, he had found, lasted too long.

Julie knew she was pregnant. It was not a thing she could prove, but even at the train station saying goodbye she knew there was new life in her. She felt it strongly, and was happy about it.

Uncle Dan noticed guests weren’t entirely enamored with Tall Bob at the registration desk. Other people who had worked the registration desk met requests with a willingness to make things work. Small problems irritated Bob. Dan tried to work with Bob. “You absolutely can’t get mad at the customers,” Dan said. “Some people are hard to please, but you must try and find solutions. If you don’t know what to do, ask Julie or Jane or myself.”

Tall Bob said OK, but he disliked the job. Sometimes women were demanding about requests and it was hard to be nice to them. Julie went to a lawyer and discussed the process of divorce. She talked to Bob about it and was surprised he was OK with the idea. Working at a hotel was not his idea of a good time.

He was given a generous settlement and went to the port town of Lobster Harbor, 15 miles up the coast. He got a room at a boarding house. He would eventually work at a tavern or as a clerk, that was his plan. He could read and write. What he would not do is work at another hotel. First, he planned to enjoy the summer. Now that Julie was out of his life, he could drink and enjoy himself without limits. There were working women, call girls, in Lobster Harbor, and Tall Bob indulged himself. He liked to eat at least one meal a day at a restaurant. He liked to drink to excess.

Bob always felt his height was an advantage to him. When he was young, people thought he was older than he was. Young girls seemed to like having a tall boyfriend. Tall Bob had not minded school and liked to joke with people. He realized he didn’t joke as much as he used to. His father had worked as a bank teller. He never advanced beyond that position. He dressed up for work each day, but in fact they were poor. His mother eventually began to work as well, taking in laundry. Home life was OK, but he had brothers and sisters and was expected to go out on his own when he was 14.

He worked at a feed store for several years. Work stacking or loading bags of seed or feed helped beef him up. He had been sensitive about being thin. He wasn’t much on hard work, but he liked the broad shoulders and tight little muscles in his arms that resulted from the job. He gained a large circle of friends and kept a journal of jokes.

He met Julie, the prettiest of all the girls he knew. He was thrilled she went out with him. She met his friends, he told jokes, and they spent time at the beach on Wind Point.

When they married, he went to work at the restaurant busing tables and doing dishes. The family had tried to train him in many areas. Dan was good at fixing things but Tall Bob was not. He didn’t like cooking. He wasn’t an organized book keeper.

With his severance, Tall Bob made friends in Lobster Harbor. He enjoyed the summer of his first year of freedom from Julie and the hotel. In the fall, he would find a job as a bartender or a clerk.

Chapter 11

In the fall, Tall Bob knew he should find a job. He spent a lot of money and it would eventually run out. He had two drinking friends, Rod Harris and Pat Horn. Rod was a good-looking man, always noticed by women for his dark good looks. He was also a smooth talker and a philosopher. His main theme was that life should be enjoyed and not wasted on hard work, an attitude Tall Bob liked when he was lazing and drinking. Pat Horn went along with everything Rod said. He smiled at times but never contributed to a conversation. He had curly hair that never stayed in place, a raggedy beard that never filled out. Rod Harris would not have hung out with Pat Horn except for one thing. Pat Horn was a vicious fighter. For trouble in a bar with a bunch of drunk men, no one could solve a problem quicker than Pat Horn.

Pat Horn solved problems by beating men with his fists. He was the most fearless fighter Tall Bob had ever seen.

Facing the fact of poverty, Tall Bob hatched a plan with Rod Harris. The safe at the Comfort Cove hotel held bars of gold. Bob was not serious about the plan when he first stated it, but Rod could see the potential of it and egged him on. The plan became something they talked about every night while drinking. The plan went from a kind of a joke to a serious obsession.

The plan in fact was realistic. Bob knew the combination to the safe. “There’s a reception desk, which is out of view from the restaurant. We should go in when the dinning room is busy, in the early evening. There will be a person at the reception desk. We tie that person up. The office is behind the reception desk. It’s locked but the key is hidden on a nail under the reception desk. We go in, take the gold and whatever money is in the safe, run out the entrance and we’re home free,” Bob said.

Rod and Pat had horses. Bob would have to buy one. Rod would refine the plan. “We should go in, Pat and I, dressed respectfully and well groomed. Bob can’t go in because he would be recognized,” Rod said.

Bob was tall and thin with a large nose. He had lost all the heft he had once gained working at the feed store. They recognized that Rod was right.

Rod and Pat would tie up whoever was at the reception desk. Pat would stand guard at the reception desk while Rod would go in the office, close the door, and empty the safe.

“Last I knew, there were six bars of gold in the safe, plus money from the hotel and restaurant. By now there could be 12 bars of gold,” Bob said. It would be a large amount of money, even dividing it three ways. Rod thought he might open a saloon. Pat said he might buy a small farm. He had grown up on a farm and knew about raising cattle. Bob had no plans for the money except for continuing his holiday from responsibility.

Bob would hold the horses. His main contribution was the intelligence on how to rob the office of the Comfort Cove.

Meantime, John in Kansas received a letter saying that Julie was divorced and pregnant. She said John would be received with open arms if he returned to New Hampshire. “Everyone in my family adores you,” she wrote. “None more than me.”

John explained the situation to April, his mother. He returned to New Hampshire in late July. He would immediately return to his job busing tables and washing dishes. John was a confident man and was sure he could find useful work once he learned his way around the small community of Wind Point. He began the journey back to New Hampshire.

With Tall Bob gone, the hotel and restaurant made a number of changes. Coco became the lead person at the registration desk. She was a quick learner. She was a pretty woman, with thick black hair and perfect brown skin. She was clever at solving problems. She smiled when bossy women demanded some change or another and was able to win them over with a nice sense of humor.

Manuel was hired in the kitchen. Jane took over the duty of baking, which she enjoyed and it was not a stressful job. Joseph cut vegetables, grilled meat and organized orders. His work load was reduced and he liked the way the kitchen was organized. Manuel was 25, organized and full of energy. The job at the Comfort Cove restaurant was the best he had ever had. He learned recipes easily and added his own small, creative touches.

Summer was the busy time of the season. People came from all over New Hampshire to enjoy the beach resort. Some members of the family didn’t sleep well following Dano’s death, but everyone worked hard and powered through. Profits were high and Julie and Jane were happy with the hotel and restaurant. September was warm and business had not dropped off. Julie began to show just a little.

Chapter 12

It was an unusually warm night, late September, when Tall Bob, Rod Harris and Pat Horn began the 15-mile trek from Lobster Harbor to Wind Point. They camped about two miles away from Wind Point, arriving in the early morning hours. They slept, then ate. They moved camp to a small wood inland from Comfort Cove.

Rod had grown a beard to hide his face. It was neat and trim and instead of hiding his good looks, he may have looked more attractive. A beard suited him. Rod made Pat Horn shave off his shaggy beard. That beard would never look good, he thought. The two dressed in their best clothes to look presentable.

Bob at one point got as close to the hotel as he could and spied Julie outside. “She’s pregnant,” he said, half in anger and half in bewilderment. He went back in the woods and did not report this to the other men.

It was getting dark at 7 when Rod and Pat walked to the hotel. They walked in the entrance and were pleased the layout was exactly as Bob had described it. They walked up to the receptionist’s counter. Coco was at the counter.

Pat pointed his flintlock pistol at Coco and said, “Don’t say a word.”

Rod stuffed a handkerchief in her mouth and tied a bandana around her face to secure the handkerchief in her mouth. Rod and Pat were behind the counter now, and could hear noise from the restaurant. Rod tied Coco’s hands quickly while Pat held the gun barrel in her face. She was scared. They helped her to the floor and told her not to move. She had no plans to move.

But she did notice Rod knew exactly where to find the key to the office. He didn’t even look under the counter. He reached under where the key was supposed to be. It was, and he lifted it off the nail.

Mean Pat Horn stood at the counter, his hand on the single-shot pistol, which he held below the counter. Rod went in the office and opened the safe. The combination was correct and the door of the heavy safe opened on the first try. He began to load a saddlebag with gold bars and cash. He was amazed there were 10 gold bars.

John stood at the entrance to the restaurant. He stepped back and saw Pat Horn standing at the reception desk. He didn’t know who Pat Horn was but the situation looked suspicious. He went to the kitchen and got his Walker Colt out of a cabinet. He called Manuel, Dan and Julie over.

“Something’s going on,” he said. “I think we’re being robbed. Don’t let any guests leave.”

John fastened the gun belt on his hip, and pulled out the Walker Colt. He approached the counter. Dan knew Coco was there, and Dan suddenly ran ahead of John. “Who are you?” Dan said to Pat in a demanding tone.

Pat Horn, surprised and jacked up with nervous energy, pulled up his pistol and shot. Dan was hit with a gut shot. John, arriving seconds later, shot immediately. The Walker Colt, with its .44 milligram load, was loud and all noise from the restaurant stopped. Rod heard the two shots, especially the loud second shot. He said out loud, “Jesus, do they have a cannon?”

Pat Horn fell to the floor with a hole in his heart. Blood poured out everywhere. Julie asked everyone in the restaurant to stay put, remain calm for a moment while they assessed the situation. Manuel came out and stood beside John.

“Whoever is in the office, come out. It’s all over,” John shouted. Still, if a man had the gold, he might take a chance and make a run for it. John waited, ready to shoot.

Manuel and Julie were tending to Uncle Dan. John remembered when the Comanche killed Dano. He had stood with his gun prepared to shoot while Dano was coughing blood and holding the arrow at his chest.

The office at the hotel was a small room with a desk, the safe and a few chairs. There were windows, but they had purposely been made small so that a man could not pass through them, either going out or coming in. Rod looked around the room. The door was the only way. He came out with his single-shot pistol, ready to shoot, but saw John with the Walker Colt. He put his gun down, then the saddlebag. John held his gun on Rod while Manuel tied his hands. Manuel helped Coco up, untied her, and she ran to Dan, her husband. Julie sent Manuel to town for the doctor.

Julie stood by John and he put his arm around her. “They may have an accomplice with them. I’m going out and taking a look,” John said.

“Are you sure. Let him go,” Julie said.

“It may be Bob,” Coco said, “they knew exactly what to do. They knew the office key was under the counter on a nail. That one went right to it.” Coco pointed at Rod Harris with the trim beard.

John headed for the door. Julie meant to say something, but she was dumbfounded. “I have a baby,” she said, when what she meant was she was pregnant and please don’t get hurt.

John went outside and saw a tall man near the woods holding three horses. Bob saw John. “What’s he doing here?” Bob said. Bob also knew something had gone wrong.

At that time, a man rode up that John knew nominally. It was the lawyer Ross Wilcox. He was a dapper man, small with a nice head of gray hair. He swung off a tall, black gelding.

“I heard the shots. Were you robbed?” Ross said.

John said yes.

“And that’s the getaway man over there in the woods?” Ross said. “You can take my horse and go get him. I’d go with you, but I’m 70 years old. A night of riding and my back would be killing me.” He laughed.

“I will make this up to you. I promise,” John said.

He took the horse’s reins. Bob had already taken off, and the two additional horses went with him. It was common knowledge a Comanche with three or four horses could ride 60 miles in a day. Bob was no Comanche, but at least he had a head start and fresh horses.

“Patience,” Ross said. “Be aggressive but don’t let him ambush you.”

“Good advice, friend,” John said. He started out at a fast pace. Bob was riding hard, too. Bob wasn’t comfortable with it, but he knew this was his chance to outdistance John.

After an hour of hard riding, John allowed his horse to walk at a normal pace. He couldn’t wear the horse out. Bob had an advantage in having the other horses. In the morning, John could see he was still on the trail. Three horses made a decent track, which John could follow.

John didn’t consider himself a good tracker, but he had tracked animals while hunting, and knew he could manage the job if there were tracks in the dirt. Later, Bob might walk the horses over rocks or through riverbeds, but so far John was OK.

Bob turned off on a road inland. He wasn’t going back to Lobster Harbor. John didn’t have a plan except to track Bob as far as he could. He rode all day till he came to a town named Harper, which had four run-down houses. He stopped, watered the horse, and asked a man if he had seen someone with three horses.

“About three hours ahead of you,” the man said.

John kept riding, but at sunset he found a spot to camp. He took the saddle off the horse and brushed it, and staked the horse to a rope. He put his head on the saddle and was deep asleep for three hours. He woke up at 1 a.m. and, even in the moonlight of the early morning, he could see the three tracks. Two of the horses had the same kind of horseshoe. The other had a different kind, plus the horse seemed to push off when it walked and left a slightly smeared hoof print. John walked the rest of the night, leading his own horse to keep it fresh.

At daylight, he saw a camp at least four or five miles ahead, the rider and two horses were just starting out. The rider was pushing hard, but John let his horse walk a while longer. He didn’t want to ruin the horse. If he did, he’d be afoot. Still, John considered it was not much of a lead.

John was worried about Uncle Dan’s gut shot. There was a good chance it would get infected and he would die. Coco would be distraught.

Julie could handle the sheriff, the local law enforcement, which would come down from Portsmouth. Portsmouth was another 10 miles beyond Lobster Bay.

John knew they’d worry about him, but he expected Bob to wear out at some point. Bob didn’t work much and probably didn’t have much endurance. Still, John remembered Ross Wilcox’s advice not to let Bob ambush him. Bob was likely going to prison for a long time, so he might not allow himself to be easily caught.

John knew he could go long periods without sleep. He only needed one meal a day, and he was a strong walker and could rest the horse in that way. He could sleep without a blanket or a fire, though he liked both.

John arrived in Exeter, a real town, about 10 in the evening. He put the horse in a stable. The horse was fed, watered and brushed. John had dinner at a café and took a room to sleep. John was refreshed and the horse seemed ready to go about 6 in the morning. The horse was a tall, black gelding. John had never learned its name, but he sure liked the horse. It had good endurance. It seemed to know he was in a contest.

About noon, after a six-hour ride, John jumped down off the horse to look at tracks. Sure enough, Bob had turned off on a wilderness trail. Way north was New Hampshire’s White Mountain. That probably wasn’t where Bob was going. But the area he was in, the Merrimack Valley, was wilderness. John was used to the Great Plains, but this was rolling hills, numerous, thick stands of trees, big granite rocks and raging rivers. A man could hide anywhere in there. If Bob had a rifle, John would be easy to ambush and kill. Bob could pop out from behind a rock and shoot him at close range with a pistol.

That didn’t stop John. He would have to continue to be alert despite some fatigue. The trail wound up and down over steep hills. The horse had to swim across a stream. By sunset, the trail had become narrow, but John could still follow the tracks. John smelled smoke. He stopped the horse and tied it to a tree. He continued on foot about 100 yards.

The trail curved and Bob was camped next to a roaring river. There was a small fire and bacon cooking. He kept a sloppy camp and did not take good care of the horses. Very slowly, quietly, John crept up to the camp, using trees for cover. He was about 15 feet from the camp fire when he stepped out from behind a tree and said, “Hold it there.”

Bob raised a pistol and fired wildly at John, missing him. He shot in the process of jumping up, which was of course a bad idea and resulted in the missed shot. Tall Bob then ran down toward the river. It was a single-shot pistol so Bob dropped the gun on the way. John could have shot him but he didn’t want to.

“Christ, Bob, aren’t you tired of running yet,” John yelled. Then he took off running. The little river valley was steep. Bob had long legs so he was at first faster than John expected. John caught himself going too fast down the steep valley slope. Rocks to trip on were all over and it was nearly dark in there.

The land flattened out at the bottom of the basin and Bob kept running, but John easily caught up. When John caught up to him, Bob tried one more burst of speed and John pushed him. Bob took a couple of long, unbalanced steps then fell to the ground. His body hit hard and it knocked the breath out of him. John felt like hitting him a few times, to make him compliant, but he felt sorry for Bob. He felt sorry for anyone who was going to prison.

John had him now. John had the Walker Colt, and he didn’t think Bob would try to fight him. “Let’s go back to the fire and you can eat your dinner,” John said. Bob stood up and John dusted him off. He had leaves and grass all over his coat and pants.

They walked back to camp and Bob ate his bacon, and had some water from a canteen. John would tie him up when it came time to sleep, but he let him enjoy freedom of movement for a little while. Bob had a bottle with a little whisky, and sat by the fire drinking it.

“Let me go, John. That chapter of my life’s done. I won’t bother Julie no more,” Bob said.

“We think you helped plan the attempted robbery. The man with the short beard knew exactly where the key to the office was. The safe was opened. They knew the combination. Uncle Dan was gut shot. He was alive when I left but he’ll likely get an infection and die. The one without the beard shot him.”

“Yeah, Pat was the violent one. He’d shoot first,” Bob said.

“If someone is murdered during the course of a robbery, everyone involved is charged with murder,” John said.

“I know,” Tall Bob said. “I think you should give me a break. You know I’m not a murderer. I feel bad. I didn’t want any harm to come to Dan.”

“I know, and I liked you well enough, but there’s nothing I can do about it. When I left, they had the man with the short beard tied up and Julie was going to contact the sheriff in Portsmouth.
            “This is bad,” Bob said.

“Also, I shot the clean-shaven one dead after he shot Dan.”

A little while later, Bob said, “I saw Julie when I was in the woods there. It looked to me like she was pregnant.”

John wasn’t going to lie to him. “Yes, she is.”

“And what are you doing in New Hampshire?”

“Julie and I are going to get married,” John said.

The two men were quiet after that. Bob only had a little whisky left and he finished it. John tied his feet, then tied his hands over his stomach so he could sleep on his back, and put a blanket over him.

John found another blanket among the gang’s gear, and he took it. He put his head on the saddle, covered himself with the blanket and was fairly comfortable. He was just about asleep.

“Julie got pregnant when you were in New Hampshire the first time,” Bob said. “You are a son-of-a-bitch.”

“I guess I am,” John said.

John made sure he had the only available gun, and when he had pushed Bob when they were running, Bob hit so hard it hurt for about 30 minutes. He had a sore hip and shoulder. So Bob, being a little afraid of John and hurting, didn’t cause him any trouble on the way back. They had meals in towns like they were regular friends. At breakfast, in Exeter, Tall Bob said he would have fought harder if he had known there was a murder charge hanging over his head.

“I thought about hiking up a steep hill, ambushing you,” Bob said. “If I’d known about the murder charge, I’d a done it.”

“You knew you were being charged with robbery and you had three horses and didn’t ride hard,” John said. “You’re just lazy. I would’ve caught you even if you had run up to the top of White Mountain.”

Tall Bob appreciated a good joke and he laughed. It was true he had not pushed hard, and he thought of ambushing John from some high ridge but he wasn’t a good shot with a rifle. Then, without expression, Bob said, “You’re still a son-of-a-bitch and I don’t appreciate being charged with murder when I had nothing to do with it.”

“That’s a law with consequences,” John said. “You can tell the judge your story.”

At the coast road, John turned north. He figured Bob would be taken to Portsmouth regardless.

He met the sheriff, a man with a French father. The sheriff’s name was Pere Gervais. He was 40, beefy with a bushy mustache. He already had Rod Harris in jail and had interviewed Julie.

“Brought Tall Bob in by yourself, and didn’t beat him up too much either,” he said with a smile. “Did you have a hard time?”

“I think you know he had three horses,” John said. “so he kept riding fresh horses. I had to be careful not to ruin mine. The horse didn’t belong to me.  After three days, I snuck up on his camp site. He took a wild shot at me, but he knew he was caught. He wasn’t riding hard and is not much of a threat.”

“No arguing with a Walker Colt,” Pere said with a laugh.

Pere went through the details of the robbery with John, just to make sure he was clear on the sequence of events. He told John that Dan had died before he got there. The judge would be in town in two weeks. Pere said it would be helpful if John and Julie were at the trial, maybe even testified. John said they would do that. Coco joined them at the trial.

John walked out of the sheriff’s office. It was a sunny fall day. He was glad to be going back to Wind Point. Suddenly he was very tired. When he got home, he planned to sleep for a week.

Chapter 13

Dan was buried, and Tall Bob and Rod Harris were sentenced to 15 years in prison for robbery and murder. John and Julie had three children. Ricky and Susan were older, popular role models for John and Julie’s two boys and one girl.

Coco ran the New Hampshire Comfort Cove hotel, and Julie and Manuel managed the restaurant. John ran the oil rendering and lubricant business, which was profitable for a time. Oil was discovered in 1859 in Pennsylvania, although its value was not realized or monetarized for many years. Whale oil was replaced by kerosene, then coal as an energy source for trains and ships, and then oil for all variety of uses.

John’s mother April sold her school and property and moved east. Her property was on the outskirts of Lawrence, an ideal location, so the property sold for a good price. She received a good price for the mules and wagon, too, the Oregon Trail booming at the time she moved east.

She was offered the job of administrator of a private school in Portsmouth and received a good salary. She wanted to be close to, and get to know, her grandchildren. The train went along the New Hampshire coast highway and April could easily return to John and Julie’s home and the children on weekends, holidays and summers. John and Julie’s children enjoyed time with April, were good students and all three were successful in careers as adults.

In later years, with the children gone away and April long since retired, only Ricky remained at home in Wind Point. John and Ricky were always close. Ricky eventually ran everything. He was handy and could fix things at the hotel. He ran the hotel and restaurant. The whale rendering plant shut down but the formulas for two lubricants, a light one for home use and a heavier one for industry, were sold to a company in Pennsylvania. Ricky had a hand in all these affairs and handled them competently.

April died after a long residence at the hotel with an ocean-view room, and Julie lived to be 75. John, left alone, seemed to thrive into his 80s, having coffee with Ricky each morning and playing poker at night with his friends. He died at 85 in his sleep.

He had seen many changes. In the 1870s and early 1880s, the buffalo herds were reduced to a pile of bones and Indians were squeezed onto reservations. Caldwell, which John remembered with disdain, was called the Border City Queen, the first sign of civilization on the Chisholm Trail after passing the Indian country, cowboys driving dusty longhorns to market. John read in 1879 Caldwell had built an opera house out on the prairie. Ridiculous, he thought. There were more and more machines and new kinds of fuel.

John, as an older man startled by change, was known to reminisce about the loss of Indians, buffalo and wolves. He liked to talk about the two summers he had spent on the Great Plains with Dano, the Indians he had known and the game he had hunted. Everyone at Wind Point knew he had killed two buffalo, which on the East Coast after a time was considered an amazing feat. Most easterners had never seen the great buffalo herds.

Cowboys, cattle drives and the Old West had taken on a bit of a romantic flavor, but John lamented the loss of the wild and considered the takeover by the cowboys as pure comedy. The cowboys, left with an inheritance of millions of acres of good grass, would never earn his respect. The Indians always had. It was a theme John Brown Jones never tired of.