The Bozeman Trail Page 7

  Suddenly Johnston began reeling in his saddle.

  “General, are you hurt?” Abner asked.

  “Yes, and I fear seriously,” Johnston replied quietly. He put his hand to his forehead.

  Abner jumped down from his horse and moved quickly to help the general out of his saddle. Johnston, who had now grown very weak and pale, lay down under a tree. Isham Harris, the governor of Tennessee, saw Johnston down and he came over quickly to see what was wrong.

  “Where are you hurt, General?” Harris asked.

  “I . . . I truly don’t know,” Johnston answered. “But I have suddenly become very . . . dizzy.”

  Harris started unbuttoning Johnston’s clothes, looking for the wound. Then he found it, a small, clean hole just above the hollow of the knee. From that neat bullet hole, Johnston was pumping blood profusely, the result of a cut artery. Harris put his hand over the wound, trying to stop the flow, but he was unable to do so.

  “General, you seem to be bleeding very badly, and I don’t know how to stop it. Tell me what I should do.”

  Johnston’s eyelids fluttered, and he tried to talk, but he no longer had the strength to speak.

  “Maybe some brandy,” Harris suggested. From his hip pocket he took a flask, then he tried to pour some liquor into the wounded man’s mouth, but the brandy just rolled right back out again, unswallowed.

  “Try to take some down, General. Please try to take some down.”

  “Sir, apply a tourniquet,” Abner suggested.

  “A tourniquet?” Harris replied, obviously confused by the term. He shrugged. “I don’t know what a tourniquet is.”

  Quickly, Abner removed his belt and wrapped it around the general’s leg, just above the wound. Putting a stick in it, he twisted it down as tightly as he could get it, then he looked into Johnston’s face.

  “General! General! Can you hear me?” Abner shouted.

  When there was no answer, Abner lifted Johnston’s eyelid with his thumb and looked into his eye, then leaned forward to listen to Johnston’s chest. Finally, with a sigh, he took off the impromptu tourniquet and stood up.

  “Is he . . . ?” Governor Harris asked.

  “Dead,” Abner replied, answering the unfinished question. He started toward his horse.

  “Where are you going?” Harris asked.

  Abner mounted. “General Beauregard must be told,” Abner said.

  “What are your orders, General?” Abner asked after informing Beauregard that Johnston was dead.

  “You are relieved of your duties as an aide de-camp,” Beauregard said. “You may return to your own regiment.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “As soon as you return, inform Colonel Culpepper.”

  “Colonel Culpepper is dead, sir.”

  “Very well, inform whoever is in command that we will continue our attacks against the Sunken Road. The Yankees are holding there and we must dislodge them.”

  “General, we have already launched twelve separate attacks against that road, all without success,” said a colonel with a smoke-blackened face. “And the toll has been terrible,” he added. “Each time we make an attack, we must climb over the bodies of the men who were killed previously.”

  “Then we will launch attack number thirteen,” Beuregard insisted. “And this one will not fail. I have ordered artillery support.”

  Abner watched as the heavy guns were brought up from other places on the field. One by one the caissons were unlimbered, swung around, then anchored in place. The gun crews went about their business of loading the guns with powder, grape, and canister. Then, at nearly point-blank range, sixty-two guns opened up on the defenders in the Sunken Road. The Hornet’s Nest, as both armies were now calling this place, was enveloped in one huge crashing explosion of grapeshot, shrapnel, shards of shattered rock, and splintered trees.

  Finally, the artillery barrage stilled and the Confederates launched their attack, not running and screaming across the field, but marching as if on parade. Abner Murback, who, only two days earlier had been a private, was now commanding one of the companies of the Fusiliers, and he marched in front of his men, his pistol drawn.

  For a moment it was quiet, except for the beating of the drums, the jangle of equipment, and the brush of footsteps. It was so quiet that Abner could hear talking in the Yankee lines.

  “Here come the Rebs,” someone said.

  “My God, ain’t they ever goin’ to quit? We done kilt near as many people as they got in the whole state of Mississippi.”

  The Confederates continued their advance. There were no challenging Rebel yells, no cheers, no vitality in their movements. Scattered throughout the first rank were the drums, whose cadence not only kept the men marching as one but relayed the officers’ orders as well. The drummers were young, some as young as twelve, but already their eyes were glazed over with the same hollow stare as those of their older comrades.

  Abner led his men down to the creek, then into it. The backwater slough was knee-deep with mud and stagnant standing water, and it slowed the attackers’ advance even more.

  “Fire!” the Yankee artillery commander shouted.

  In one horrendous volley, more than sixty cannon fired, belching out flame, smoke, and whistling death. The artillery barrage was followed almost immediately by a volley of deadly accurate riflefire. Hundreds of attacking soldiers went down in the withering fire, and the attack was stopped in its tracks. The remaining Confederate soldiers turned and scrambled back out of the water, up the embankment, and into the timberline beyond, leaving their dead and dying behind them.

  One of the dead left on the field was Lieutenant Abner Murback of Bexar County, Texas.

  Chapter Seven

  “Oh, James, no,” James’s mother, Alice, said when he told her of his plans. “I have been so thankful that you didn’t leave with the regiment, so happy that you were going to be here with us. Now you say you want to go off to who knows where and hunt for gold? What about your leg? The doctor told me himself how lucky you were that you didn’t lose that whole leg when you were shot.”

  “That was a long time ago, Mom,” James replied. “And you know yourself, I haven’t had the least bit of trouble with it since it healed. Not even so much as a twinge.”

  “Still, I don’t know why you would want to go to what seems like half way around the world, just to look for gold. Especially when there is no guarantee that you will even find any. Just answer me why?”

  “Why? Mom, do you have any idea how many fortunes were made during the California gold rush?”

  “What do you need a fortune for? We have the ranch, and it’s doing very well,” his mother said.

  “It’s not just the money,” James replied.

  “Well, if it isn’t the money, what is it?”

  “It’s, well, I don’t know, I can’t put it into words, but—”

  “I think I can put it into words,” James’s father suggested.

  “Well, if you can, Garrison Cason, I wish you would explain it,” Alice said. She shook her head. “Because it is certainly beyond me.”

  “That’s because you don’t have the blood of a young man coursing through your veins. It was a hard thing James had to do, watching all the young men of the county ride off to go to war and not join them himself, to risk their danger, to share their glory,” Garrison said. “A young man has a natural desire for adventure, and there is nothing more adventurous than a war.”

  “My Lord, Garrison, are you saying he should have gone to war?”

  “No, I’m not saying that. Certainly, not to this war, anyway. I’m just saying that I can understand his need for adventure. And it just may be that going off to look for gold might satisfy that need.”

  “So, you think he should go?”

  “If he wants to, yes,” Garrison said. “After all, he’s a man, fully grown. There’s nothing we could do to stop him, anyway. Think of it, Alice. Isn’t this better than going to war?”

  Ali
ce sighed in resignation. “Yes, I suppose it is,” she admitted.

  “I’m glad you can see it that way, Dad. And, Mom, I hope you understand,” James said.

  “Who is going with you?” Garrison asked.

  “Well, Bob’s going. Also, Billy Swan, and Duke Faglier.”

  “Bob’s a good man, of course. And so is Billy Swan,” Garrison said. “But . . . Duke Faglier? I don’t know anything about him. He’s the fella that works at the livery, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I don’t know as I’ve ever said three words to him.”

  “He’s the quiet type, all right. And unlike a lot of fellas his age, he doesn’t talk about himself much. But I’ve known him for nearly half a year now, and he’s a decent sort. He manages to avoid trouble.”

  “Afraid of a fight?” Garrison asked.

  James chuckled. “More like fights are afraid of him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a funny thing, I don’t know if I can explain it, but on the few times he’s come close to a fight, the other party has sort of backed away at the last minute. It’s like they sense something about him.”

  “Oh, honey, you make him sound dangerous,” his mother said.

  “I guess he is dangerous to anyone who is his enemy. But he’s proven to be just as loyal to those who call themselves his friends.”

  “Tell me, James, do you think this Faglier could work with cattle?”

  “To tell the truth, Dad, Duke strikes me as being someone who could pretty much do anything he set his mind to. Why do you ask?”

  “I’ve had a thought,” Garrison said.

  “You aren’t going to try and talk me out of going to Dakota, are you? Because I am going.”

  “No, I’m not going to try and change your mind. On the contrary, I want you to go. But I have an idea that I believe would make the trip very profitable, even if you didn’t find gold. It would be hard work, and dangerous, even more dangerous than just going after gold.”

  “Well, for heaven’s sake, Garrison, if it is more dangerous, why are you even suggesting it?” Alice asked.

  “Because nothing worthwhile can be obtained without some risk,” Garrison replied.

  “What is your idea?” James asked.

  “I would like for you to drive some cattle up to Idaho,” Garrison said. “Even though you say this won’t be as big a gold rush as happened in California, there will be a lot of people there. A gold find has a tendency to draw them. And if there are a lot of people, there will be a demand for a lot of food. Those folks are going to have a real hunger for beef, and my bet is, they’ll be willing to pay top dollar for cattle.”

  James smiled, and slapped his hand against the top of the table. “Dad, that is a great idea!” he said. “Yes, I’ll do it.”

  “Of course, with Billy going, his Uncle Loomis will be wanting to send some of their cattle up as well. And Dusty Ferguson has been running his own cattle in with mine for many years now, so I reckon Bob will be taking some of the Ferguson cows up as well.”

  “Garrison, you aren’t expecting four boys to take a herd all the way to Dakota by themselves, are you?” Alice asked.

  “Well, to begin with, Alice, they aren’t boys, they are men. But no, I don’t expect them to do it by themselves. I’m sure if they look around, they’ll be able to find some more folks to go with them. Hell, I’m tempted to go with them myself.”

  Alice shook her head vigorously. “Garrison Cason, don’t you even think such a thing,” she said.

  Garrison laughed. “Well, I’m not going with them, Alice, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to think about it. It’s going to be quite an adventure, and I like adventure as much as the next fella. I would not have come to Texas in the first place, if I didn’t have a taste for adventure.”

  “Yes, and look where that taste for adventure almost got you. You were headed for the Alamo, intent on joining up with Travis and the others. If you had gotten there in time, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation now,” Alice said.

  “That’s all ancient history,” Garrison said. “All I’m saying is, if I didn’t have a ranch to run, and you to look after, I’d be on this drive with them.”

  “You’d be welcome to come along, Dad,” James said.

  Garrison laughed. “I’m sure you young people wouldn’t want an old geezer like me. Don’t worry, I’ve no intention of coming.”

  “Well, I would hope not,” Alice said, her voice reflecting her relief.

  “You want to take a herd of cattle all the way to Dakota?” Duke Faglier asked when James told him what they had planned.

  “I’m taking a thousand head,” James said. “Billy is taking a thousand head for his uncle. And Bob is taking five hundred head. What do you say?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” Duke hesitated. “Driv ing a herd of cattle up to Dakota seems a mite more involved than just ridin’ up to look for gold.”

  James smiled. “I can understand that—if you have no vested interest. But see if this won’t change your opinion of the operation. I’ve talked Pa into givin’ you a hundred head of your own. Mr. Swan said he’d throw in another hundred head, and Bob’s pa is willin’ to give you fifty. That way you’d have your own stake in this drive.”

  Duke was surprised by the offer. “You folks would do that?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I don’t know what to say. That’s awful generous of you fellas.”

  “Trust me, Duke, you are going to earn it,” Bob replied. “I know you are from Missouri and haven’t really been around cows all that much, but there ain’t nothin’ harder’n makin’ those ornery bastards move when they don’t want to.”

  The others laughed at Bob’s description.

  “He said that right,” Billy said. “You find a place that’s hotter’n hell in the summer, colder’n the North Pole in the winter, drier than the desert sometimes, and wetter’n the ocean other times and, like as not, there will be some cows there.”

  Duke laughed. “Now it sounds like you boys are trying to talk me out of it.”

  “Not at all,” James said. “We just want you to know what you’re getting into, that’s all.”

  Duke nodded. “Well, if you folks are serious about all this, count me in,” he said. “Well, 250 head, huh? What do you reckon they’ll bring up in Dakota?”

  “I’d be willin’ to bet they’ll bring fifty dollars a head,” Billy said.

  “Fifty dollars a head? Times two-hundred-fifty? Why, that’s”—he thought for a moment—“that’s twelve thousand, five-hundred dollars! That’s a fortune!”

  “My, my, that Missouri boy can do his numbers,” Bob teased, and the others laughed.

  “Imagine that,” Duke said, smiling broadly. “Who would’ve ever thought Duke Faglier would be a man of substance?”

  “How soon do you reckon we can get started?” Billy asked.

  “Well, since Bob’s pa is foreman at Long Shadow, his beeves are already there. And that means that a hundred fifty of Duke’s cows are there as well, so why don’t you bring your herd on over? We’ll get ’em all together before we start the drive.”

  “We’ll help you bring ’em over,” Bob offered.

  “Yeah, me, too,” Duke said. “I might as well get used to being around those creatures.”

  “Ha, what you mean is, you want to make certain you get your one hundred head brought over,” Billy said.

  Duke laughed with the others.

  The sign outside Bowman’s Mercantile advertised DEALING IN QUALITY GOODS FOR ALL MANKIND, and Ira Bowman made an honest effort to live up to that claim. His sprawling store sold goods that spanned the spectrum from baby beds to caskets. In between were such things as harness and saddles, furniture, and ready-made clothing.

  Revelation Scattergood, a young woman of twenty, was looking at a table that was piled high with men’s trousers. She took one of the smaller pairs of pants from the table, then h
eld them against her lithe form to check the fit. Deciding it was a fit, she put the pants with two others she had already laid aside.

  The little bell over the door tinkled as Meg Murback and her mother came in. Without so much as a glance toward Revelation, the two women went toward the “ready to wear” dress rack.

  “Oh, Mama, look at this one,” Meg said, pulling out a pink dress to show. “Isn’t it pretty?”

  “Good afternoon, Miss Murback, Mrs. Murback, I’ll be right with you,” Bowman said from the back of the store.

  “Did the new hats come in, Mr. Bowman?” Meg asked.

  “They did indeed, direct from New Orleans. I hope you find one you like. What with the war and all, we probably won’t be getting any more for a while,” Bowman said.

  Revelation watched as Meg picked one of the hats up and put it on. Meg walked over to the mirror and examined herself. When she saw Revelation’s reflection in the mirror, looking at her, she turned toward Revelation. “And just what are you looking at?” she asked, contemptuously.

  Revelation looked away quickly.

  “Meg!” Mrs. Murback scolded. “Be quiet.”

  Revelation felt a small sense of consolation that Meg’s mother had called her down for such a curt remark. But her satisfaction was short-lived because of what Mrs. Murback said next.

  “You know better than to talk to the likes of her. Any woman who would wear men’s trousers is nothing but trash.”

  Turning toward Revelation, Meg stuck her tongue out, then hurried away quickly to join her mother, who was examining the latest shipment of ribbons.

  With her cheeks flaming in embarrassment and suppressed anger, Revelation held up the three pair of trousers.

  “Put these on my bill, will you, Mr. Bowman?”

  “Be glad to,” Bowman answered.

  Both Murback women were quiet until Revelation left the store, then Mrs. Murback spoke up.

  “Ira, for the life of me, I don’t know how you can stand to do business with trash like the Scattergoods,” she said.

  “They are good customers,” Bowman replied.