Chapter Three

The Hunt

I was 17 in 1871; Dad and I took an opportunity to work as hands on a hunt with William Cody in late September. It was good money, many people wanted to live the frontier life without the danger and work. The most popular way to do this was hunting parties or wagon trains. For 6 years I trained under Dad, now I was confident, educated in scouting, weapons, and working side by side with my Dad. Lieutenant-General Philip H. Sheridan, along with a group of New York and Chicago Newspaper editors hired Cody for a hunt in Kansas. We were the scouting group. Really that meant scouting for Indians and bandits keeping the party of frontier novices safe. Keeping them alive was our assignment. What excited me the most about this adventure was the train ride; it was my first time on the train and we were going in class. Chicago to Kansas City Missouri, then horse back to the open Kansas range; this was no small event, the participants of high stature and national reporters meant every minute was going to be written about. Dad got on the train in his Military Blues, I think it was more about the publicity but he looked good. Myself, I followed the traditional dress of the cowboy. I was allowed to have my side arm holstered loaded and visible. Some time back I chose a gambler style flat top hat, black with a black leather band. Mom gave me a gift when I left but she did not want me to open it until the train was on its way. Dad wanted her to come with but she had zero interest in the frontier. Her friends at the merchandising strip was her desire, it was the only place she wanted to be. Well I was alone at first on the train; Dad was doing some talking with Cody. I couldn’t wait, I opened the gift. It was a new headband for my hat, snake skin, a rattle snake headband with a real vertebra, it was great. I took the leather strap off my hat and put the snake skin on. “That’s what a hat should look like” - I hear someone say. I look up and Dad is standing there with Bill Cody, Bill asked if he could see it, I handed it to him; he took a good look and handed it back to me.

“Well Son” - Cody says; “your father is the best gunman I know and he tells me your better.” The biggest smile found its way to my face.

“Well Son” Cody says again, “I am honored to have both of you helping make this adventure as safe as possible. I look forward to riding with both of you.”

“Thank you Sir.”

The train was well clear of Chicago now and we were on our way. I tried to stay near to Dad. This time there was no need to spy; I was part of the plan, but everyone wanted to talk to my Dad and there was not a lot of room on the train. I sat a row behind when my Dad began talking to three writers. Lt. General Sheridan kept making reference to an operation that seriously handicapped the rebels in the Mississippi valley. Dad gives in and accepts the pressure to tell the story. My ears perked up. Other than the day he gave me the Colt the war was never mentioned. I sat forward and listened.

It was a full moon night, I was operating a scouting mission; at my side was Paul Smith, a newbie to my unit but an experienced map maker, and Jim Newton a talented tracker. Our platoon was working down the Mississippi Valley. We were two days ahead of the platoon clearing a route when we came up on a rebel supply depot; they were utilizing the river to work north. Our position put us between the depot and the regiment. The next hour involved a complete recon; the three of us broke up and surveyed the situation. I got up to the river entrance and from my vantage point I could see across the whole camp, the fence was not built for attack, more of just a privacy fence. The guard was down, I could see the officers tent, the flaps were up and they were playing cards. Two guards were stationed at the river access, asleep I might add. I saw Jim to the right up in a tree, we acknowledged each other. Paul was at the road entrance just out of view of the two guards there, we’re grouped 100 yards up the river. The best we could figure there were 9-11 rebels, not one in a defensive position. Two for sure were sleeping while covering the river access. That was our starting point. I told Paul to run the length of the fence on the inside and wait for the two front door guards to respond to the ruckuses. Jim you get in clear shot of the bunker opening. I’ll take out the sleepers at the river and head for the officers tent. Now I want to capture the officers, it will hurt way more than killing them. However we can’t make too much noise or we could get flanked by the missing regiment. We need to get the officers out, torch the supplies and get the hell out of here. Let’s start with the capture. Jim turns to me and says, “I will stay behind, and once you have about an hour lead I will eliminate this location”. I nodded and we moved in. The two at the river cut themselves in the jugular with a bayonet, never shave in the cold shivering with a bayonet. The group of writers laughed. Paul went to the front gate and Jim had his line before I even got to the officers tent. I grabbed a hickory axe handle stepped into the tent, with total shock in their faces the corporal drew first, I swung as hard as I could and that fella’s elbow exploded, back hand with the club to his forehead knocking him out. I punched the next fella in the mouth knocking him to the ground, with an uppercut utilizing the stick in my hand I caught number three in the family jewels. The noise woke no one in the bunker but the front gate guards noticed. Paul introduced one to his bayonet and broke the butt off his gun using the head of the number two guard. I looked back at Jim and he was exiting the bunker cleaning his large hunting knife. We dragged the three officers out to the tree line tied their hands. Paul kept an eye on them while Jim and I rigged the camp for an efficient dismantling. We grabbed as many supplies as we could carry, Paul got a new mussel loader, and I scored a new Henry rifle. Paul helped escort our new guests north towards the meeting location of our platoon. Exactly an hour later a wonderful sound erupted from the forest. Multiple explosions, fireworks of all kinds, light and smoke filling the morning sky off in the distance. We laughed, one of the officers was positive that we were finished; the truth was his men were closer than ours. My regiment was nearly two days north, there soldiers, well as far as we knew they could be anywhere east of us.

I responded – “Well that may be the case Sir; however I can assure you that if it comes to a fight you will be the first casualty. So as far as your family ever seeing you again, you best hope they don’t find us”.

We waited an hour and Jim quickly reunited with us, smiling ear to ear I asked him if it looked as good up close. He laughed and said better! We made our way north keeping close to the river; it was the best way to protect the rear flank and made it so all we needed to defend was 3 angles. The next night we came close to judgment time. A group of rebel scouts passed us to the east at about 500 yards. With my new rifle stuck in jabber jaws mouth he found it unnecessary to give away our position. But this was developing into a bigger situation; we were being tracked so in effect we were bringing both groups to a meeting. With what we saw back at the camp it is safe to say we would have met each other anyway, but we need to get there first. We now have rebel scouts between us and our regiment, in half a day our point guard and those scouts could meet. Being 500 yards out they were practically on the same route we used to enter. By my calculations we were a day away from a serious battle. We have reinforcements, their depot is gone. The upper hand is ours, I had Paul and Jim continue north with our guests. I took off for the rebel scouts. If I couldn’t stop them from discovering our position, I could hurt them on their way back to report it. The rebel scouts made no effort to hide their tracks, at a steady jog I brought myself to 100 yards behind them. There angle had taken them west of the planned position, placing them in between the river and our regiment. Following the current course they could have gone right past the boys, I chose to continue following, but angled slightly more towards the union regiment. It was quiet, but about to get crazy. I heard way off to the south east the rebel regiment. It appeared that they were marching north easterly of the scouts. As I continued watching for the scouts and listening to the troop; I met up with the union soldiers running point. Got them up to speed and they went back to alert the regiment. Stopping the rebel scouts was my next move. Cutting back to the route they took, I caught up with them, they were huddled making or reading a map it looked like. Straight east from our position we could see my regiment; they were gathering at a farm in the clearing. I found a spot to steady my Henry Rifle, there were five of them, all grouped. I took aim, gave the point soldiers time to get back to the group. When I thought they were clear I put six rounds into the grey huddle, they all dropped without returning a single shot.

The next morning the two groups clashed, the battle lasted all day. The rebels were crushed, the supply depot destroyed and we captured rebel officers. The map the rebel scouts had, supplied us with the positions of two additional rebel groups operating out of the depot we destroyed. The next three weeks the army hunted and eliminated the remaining two rebel regiments, the supply depot location was armed by the union and the next two barges of rebel supplies fell under our control.

Dad stood and nodded, the group clapped and acknowledged his accomplishment. He excused himself to go change, but I noticed he wasn’t comfortable. We had the same sleeping quarters so I followed.

“What do you want David?”

“Something more Dad I can tell”

“No it’s the story”.

“Can I meet them Dad?”

“Who?”

“Paul and Jim?”

“No you can’t son.”

“Why?”

He looked at me hesitating, “Dad I know it wasn’t all glory, please tell me.”

“The writers never want to hear the other part son.”

“Finish it for me Dad.”

He began, with his head turned looking out the window. It was the third assault, the three of us were scouting. Jim was sure he was on to them; I felt we were close but Jim was certain. It turns out Jim was right. Jim and Paul were together I was off to the right flank back about 50 yards. We were approaching a clearing. It was a small grove with a tree line on the far side. As soon as they stepped out the far tree line lit up like the fourth of July. Those damn rebels were so quick to shoot they must of thought a platoon was entering the grove, they fired so much hardware at us. Jim and Paul dropped instantly; I hit the ground rolled in reverse and fell back to a defensive position. We lost 150 men in the last two assaults. I stared at the place where they dropped, they never got up. After two days of fighting it was over. I went to that spot; there they were, blown to hell, torn to shit. Every rebel must have keyed on them, I personally buried them and learned a huge lesson. I have to be like the enemy, I have to put myself in their place. If I want to make a stand, ambush, how would I attempt to deceive the enemy to get them to do what I wanted them to do? That last group had to have gone way to the east to double back; there was no a trace of them on our approach. I never made a mistake like that again. Be humble in your thoughts; do not assume you have the upper hand, only when you make your assessment from all angles can you be successful. In this case be alive. I will see you in a while son, I’m gonna take a nap.

“Yes Sir. I will see ya in a while Dad.”

Proceeding back to the passenger car, everyone was having a grand time, someone offered me a drink but I hadn’t started that habit yet, positive that today wasn’t the time to start. I went out to the wood car and climbed up on the pile, must have sat there for hours, and it was wonderful watching the country pass by. The whistle got my attention, we were coming into St Louis, and it was an easy guess. The Mississippi river is not hard to miss. We were at that station for about an hour prepping for the next run. I stayed at the train, I wanted to go but Dad was clear, “keep an eye on everything here!” So that is what I did. He came back and tossed a bag to me, “make it last son”. It had jerky, chocolate, tobacco, bread, a map, and at the bottom a box of 100 colt .45 rounds. I was having the time of my life, no longer was I the kid tagging along, but a member of the team, an important member of the team.

“David!” My Dad called out.

“Yes?”

“Take your map, ask Mr. Cody for his and make a copy, you and I will be heading out ahead of them, we need to know where he is going.”

“Yes Sir!”

I found Mr. Cody in the passenger car; he gave me the map, “make sure no one else sees it.”

“Yes Sir!” I went to my sleeping car and got to work. We were going to be hunting dear and wild turkey, well they were. Mr. Cody had planned to make a significant loop through the north east corner of Kansas, it wasn’t based on specific land marks; it looked more like he was winging it. In my training from Dad everything is based on landmarks, points that are constant and can be located readily. But who am I to guess? This was Wild Bill Cody. I returned the map he glanced at it and nodded to me. “Keep us safe son!” He nodded again; I nodded and looked for Dad. I couldn’t find him so I went to take a nap, and there was Dad, just laying down looking out the window.

“Hey Dad”

“David, did you get the map done?”

“Yes sir.”

“Let me see it.”

I pulled it out opened it partially and gave it to him.

He looks at it, “what do you think son?”

“Honestly? It looks random, like he is winging it.”

“Good call David, good eye. Your right though, it is random. However we are hunting and the game trails will dictate our movement. This map will allow you and I to see the area Mr. Cody wishes to cover, we will keep the game trails in our proximity and maintain a parameter parallel to this. We need to watch the game trail and the areas that others can watch the trails but not be seen. Make sense son?”

“Yes we need to be thinking ambush right Dad?”

“Yes we are. I’m glad you are a good listener David. This is the only time we will get to rest in a bed so try to sleep all the way into Kansas City.”

“Yes Sir.”

“David – Get up!” I snap to a sitting position clubbing my skull on the bunk above me.

“Well how’d that feel?”

“Not as good as it looked Dad.”

“Well get your stuff we are going.”

Looking out the window I mention “this is Kansas City?
“No it is the stop before; we are getting our horses here and heading out ahead of them. Meet me at the stable son.”

“Yes sir.”

This is it; I step out of the train a cowboy, hat with a new snake skin head band, boots, chaps and spurs, my colt and holster in full view. This is what I have been waiting for, gathered my saddle bag and supplies, walked around to the front of the train station, surveyed the area, across the dirt road was a merchant store, the walkway stacked high with bags of grain and to the right of that a stable. Not what I am used to seeing in Chicago but just like I imagined. The telegraph office was in the train station and I guess the mail office also because that is the entire town. My first steps in the frontier. Into the stable, Dad was talking to the stable hand, well I should say paying the hand.

“That’s yours over there David”

It was a great looking horse, all brown, rich dark brown main, not a white spot on her. A brown bridle and saddle hanging on the post next to the stall, my bed roll and saddlebags will look so good up on her. I am about to hit the trail, what a feeling.

“Get it saddled and out to the street son.”

“Yes sir.” I did so and walked the horse out to the front. Dad road his horse out of the stable, it was a fine palomino.

“You ready?”

“Yes sir.”

“Let’s go.”

For years my Dad and I had been doing this every weekend, now we are getting paid and responsible for everyone else in the hunting party. I wasn’t nervous; I was ready to get to it. Training and training and more training is required but now I get to apply everything I have been taught. We road fairly hard to get to the beginning of the trail Mr. Cody intended to use. From there we began locating the game trail, and a place to camp, for this group we want to be out of sight but not out of range. Camp consisted of a large oak tree, a small fire, a bed roll, jerky, a piece of bread and the ground. It was great though, Dad surveyed the area, I thought it best to follow his lead. The view was something I had never seen before, much grander scale than my trips to the outskirts of Chicago, as far as the eyes could see, rolling hills, tall grass waving side to side, scattered groups of trees and clear blue sky. The sun paced its way to the horizon and a cooling eastern breeze grew, it was so peaceful. When Dad relaxed I followed. Head leaning on the saddle; gazing into the flickering flames between chunks of a fallen branch, complete relaxation set in. The solitude provided opportunity talk man to man.

“Dad”

“Yes David”

“Do you know what happened to Ben from the lumber yard?”

He sighed and dropped his head.

“Sorry sir, I will not ask again.”

“No. It’s alright. War is an experience I pray you will never have to live. But it is what it is.”

He sat back on his saddle, shifted to find the comfortable spot and looked right at me.

“The day I wrote that letter was an attempt to make sense, put in prospective the reality I was faced with. Writing the good I could conjure up; to wash the truth. The letter helped block out what was, the reality of the situation I was in. When I wrote, my focus was on you and your lovely mother. It soothed my soul.”

“Dad you don’t have to continue. I understand it was beyond terrible.”

“No David, It is equally important for you to know. Life is brutal, disgusting, and unfair. You will face decisions that you would rather run from, but you can’t. It is about survival, you or them, first or the grave.”

“The quiet I mentioned in the letter was because the battle was complete. It was time to recover the injured and bury the dead. We took the field that day but it was not easy. Both sides were equal in numbers, fire power, cannons and intensity. It was a chess game those few days. The field had rolling hills similar to what you see here. A group could and did advance 50 yards and disappear from line of site. In the chess game the cannons were the back row, the killers, our offence could only operate and maintain outside of the cannon range. Advancement would be swift and strong only until the guys on the big guns could recalculate the yardage and stop the advancement. What’s an obvious plan of attack in this chess game David?”

“Take out the cannons!”

“You are right son. But where are the cannons located?”

“At the rear”

“Who are the ones that get to go to the back?”

“The scout’s, the recon team - the unseen soldiers”

“Correct again son.”

“So if you saw Ben that day that means you made it to the rear flank”

“Correct again. It was our responsibility, six cannons were killing our men, and there were twelve of us. The cannons were 25 yards apart on the ridge. Each cannon had 4-6 soldiers manning it. Loading, packing, wick, ammo supply, and range finder. Ben was a range finder and lighting the wick. I was so close I recognized him son. All I could think of was the day I met him. That thick accent and how excited he was in the big city.”

“It took a whole day to hike far enough west to come up on the rear flank. We easily dropped the rear guard. The rebels were so cocky the rear flank was always guarded at a minimum. Our choice of demolition was dynamite. One would line up sniper shots while the other dropped a stick of dynamite as close to the powder as possible. Once the explosion destroyed the site we would put a few carefully placed sniper shots through the smoke, it was very effective and painful. If shrapnel didn’t drop them they would bleed out from losing a limb. I was the sniper; Stinky was taking care of the dynamite.”

“Stinky? Dad”

“He never washed son. It is a good lesson in understanding wind direction. We had to sneak in and be down wind. You must pay attention to every detail son. Your odor or the odor of others can get you killed. That is if your opponent has any talent. Never underestimate who you are up against. Well anyway I recognized Ben; he was at the first cannon. As I said; dynamite is nasty unless a direct hit, it is a very slow painful death. You are blown to shit and waiting to bleed out basically. I took mercy on Ben. Stinky lofted his throw at the gun powder and ammo pile. Black powder reacts badly when mixed with a lit stick of dynamite. I took aim and as I saw the lit stick land, I shot him in the left ear. Just as the explosion destroyed the armament Ben slumped over the cannon. Screaming and crying ensued as the others in my strike team did the same to the remaining cannon locations. Ben never knew what hit him, it just went black. In about 22 seconds the cannon line was eliminated. The union advanced without hindrance. The battle was won, our mission complete. I lost a large part of myself that day son. The first shot walks away; the second gets buried. Be first! It is what it is Son.”

“I’m sorry Dad”

“Don’t Be. Just learn. I love you son; I tell you these things so you will know there are always consequences for every decision you make. Understand your place be better than those intending to kill you.”

We sat quietly after that, nodded off and woke up all wet. There was a fog and I was drenched by the mist. Dad was off to the west of the camp, coffee in hand, I walked over there silent. He was watching four deer make their way into the tree line just west of us. To the east it was tough to see because of the fog, but as the sun rose it slowly burned up. We closed our small camp, mounted the horses and headed south west.

“Where would you begin David?”

My Dad asked me, where should we start?

“I think we should go around the back side of that tree line were the deer ran; we can flush out the game and get a good view of the game trail on the west edge of the grove.”

“So it is”; Dad smiles and we go. As we cleared the west end of those trees we could see the wagon train making its way across the area to the southeast. According to the map they were going to ride out to about sun set. Make camp and have a hunt in the morning.

It was an uneventful day but as Dad put it, “uneventful is a successful day.” We scouted a good camp site for the group my Dad marked it in a way only Mr. Cody would see and we headed out to circle the perimeter. There was a game trail with a fork in it 100 yards north of the site; it provided hunting opportunity northerly and easterly. Dad sent me south and he went north we were to clear a 500 yard circle around the area. I noticed an abandoned hut looking thing so I started there. Went inside, there was no activity in a long time inside, but I could tell there were three horses there recently, I would say the last couple hours heading west. The horses were riding side by side. Turning off to maintain a circle, just ahead across this flat plain, a small lake was in view, a possible location for camp number two. Continuing my pass it was clear that the hunters were going to have some action concerning wild turkey. An area west of the camp a whole flock of turkey had made their home; I swung out further to not spook them. Locating a fine oak tree to sit under, it was time to wait. To the south horizon Dad approached, the main group gathered and made camp right where Dad marked; I could see the hunting group and a good distance ahead. From my vantage it was possible to overlook the game trail fork and the turkey flock. It was a perfect location to provide visual support. About an hour passed and in the brush behind me someone was approaching. Rolled to my belly and crawled into some cover to my right. It was Dad trying to sneak up on me, silent and perfectly still was the course of action, until he was right at my location. I grabbed his left foot and charged forward, knocking him on his ass, he responded and punched me in the face. I hit the ground right next to him.

“Thanks for not sticking your knife in me Dad.”

“You’re welcome. Good job son, I didn’t place you in the bush.”

A big smile hits my face, “really?”

“Yup. Did you see the trail to the south son?”

“Yea, three horses and riders heading due west, what do ya think Dad?”

“Nothing right now, let’s just keep mind of it. This is a fine spot here, at dawn they will start blasting some of those turkeys. I will rest first son, wake me in a couple hours.”

A round of naps and it was dark. Both of us noticed a fire out by the lake I saw earlier. The water is out of the view of the group but we were elevated enough to see the area ahead. The field was a rolling ground, enough to disappear upon approach. Dad and I got on the horses and headed to the north side of the lake. It was a good distance so we rode hard. The north side had three very large oak trees and high grass; it appears the people with the fire are not hiding. However they thought to be out of the line of site. We tied the horses at the high grass and walked the rest of the way, it was important to see if we could hear what they were up to. They were all asleep when we got in ear shot; Dad took a large rock and lofted it into the lake. All three jumped with guns drawn. No way they were gonna see us lying on the ground behind them.

They calmed and sat down, “damn!” One of them said, “Nobody knows we are out here so let’s relax.”

“Come on Bob”, another one spoke up, “that is Wild Bill Cody out there. It’s not going to be walk in the park.”

“Shut the fuck up spaz! I knew we shouldn’t have brought him. There not taking the valuables out to hunt, all we are going to do is raid the camp while they are hunting. The group will slow Wild Bill down, tracking us will be impossible. These rich folk are too valuable for him to leave behind. Now stop freaking, we have been over this a hundred times. You were on the train not one of them have been out here ever. You saw with your own eyes that the two cowboys left before Kansas City, this plan is perfect. The next leg of the trip will give us cover to get close enough, now get some sleep.”

At sunrise, in the distance the sounds of the hunting group blasting away with shot guns shattered the silence. It was enough to stir our new buddies. As they got up they could see their horses running off, caused by my accidental incentive. As the boys turned to see why, Dad and I stood in plain view; slightly turned with our right shoulders facing forward. The three of them stood still.

Dad gave them an opportunity to correct course; “You are free to start walking north; as of right now you haven’t warranted a hanging. Let’s just say were helping change your choice of work. I hear Kansas City is running short on shit scoopers!”

The wrestler we know as Bob promptly responded with drawing his revolver, Dad and I drew at the exact same speed and fire. Two rounds take Bob square in the chest; we were close enough that the bullets went right through him providing a bloody spray out his back. He slumped to the ground firing his revolver into the leg of the man to his right. On the left side of Bob that guy lifted his shot gun while pulling the hammers back; Dad puts a round in his left eye, another explosion of blood out the back of his head. He falls straight back on the ground. The guy shot in the leg is begging for life. It was the crier from last night.

“Take your holster off and toss it to us!”

He did so, Dad stepped forward to pick it up and the crying bastard pulled a derringer out of his vest. It misfired, my colt did not. I fired two rounds; one hit him in the Adams apple the second right in the mouth. His head slightly detached plopped to the side and the body followed. My Dad finished standing up as he hit the ground. He turns to me, I look at him.

He asks – “David when are you going to get a haircut?”

I smile - he said “let’s go.” I got on my horse.

Dad yells out - “Hey son”.

I turn and a Henry rifle is flying at me, caught it with my right hand. It was a nice one, finish worn enough to look rugged, but not beat to death.

“Bob doesn’t need it anymore, we can work on sighting it in later.”

A trophy I perceive, from my very first action, almost like my Dad’s story. Back to the hunting party; as we approach clear as day there are four turkeys hanging from the wagon. Dad rode over to Mr. Cody; I guess he filled him in on what happened. In the mean time I was told the grand tales of the hunt.

“Let’s go son”

I looked at Mr. Cody and he tipped his hat, I tipped mine and we rode off. The rest of that trip went without incident. Night was descending, huddled at what would be the last camp fire of the trip; we just sat there staring at the fire. I don’t know what it is, the red hot coals, the flickering flame, the smell, the popping, I just loved that Moment.

Snap! Attention diverted by the stinging impact of a stitch – “Fuck!”

“What is that for?”

“I just wanted to ask you a question and you were day dreaming”.

“Ok, I guess, what did you want to ask?” Vigorously rubbing the sting out of my arm my attention is on Dad.

“A few days ago you killed your first and second man, you were calm, precise. You showed no anger or regret after. I watched you since and I see no change. What are you thinking David? What went through your mind during and after?”

“Well, during I thought nothing, read and react, I looked at Bob as the leader, they were all twitching, none were confident. I stayed focused, Bob made his move. There was nothing to think about, first wins, second gets buried.”

My Dad smiles

“Second kill he brought on himself, it misfired, you or I lucked out on that; but there was no thought in dropping him, it just happened.”

“You are right David, I got lucky, but the derringer isn’t reliable. That was my second mistake during a battle David; I cannot continue to do so. I would have taken that damn gun in the face, it was fitting that you removed his face. You did a fine job; don’t take lightly the action of taking breath from an individual. And remember everyone has relatives. That shooting had no witnesses but every gun fight will not be the same.”

“Let’s go back to your mother, what do ya say?”

“Hell Ya Dad”

“David do not tell this story, it will get to your Mom. There is a reason you never heard anything from me. I never want her to hear the pain, the trouble and the hell I have seen.”

“I understand Dad, good night”

“Good night son”

We made the decision to ride our new horses back to Chicago. No point of putting them on the livestock train car, the weather was great and we were only a few days away. I truly took a liking to the frontier. It is much more dangerous but I can’t deny favoring this life. I am sure Dad did also but just can’t admit it. Either way it’s no matter, Mom will never leave the city life. Heading northeast into Missouri we caught a trail that angled us east of St. Louis. We stopped along the way here and there to shoot, hone the skills, and get my newly acquired rifle sighted. We practiced with the rifles, draw from saddle position, load and go from prone position. Dad always insisted practice was important. That rifle was powerful and accurate; this was a fine addition to my tools.

On the second morning we went off trail to see what we could find with our tracking skills. Locating a game trail running parallel to the original trail we turned to follow. A maze of trees, rock out cropping, and thick bush led us to another regularly used trail. It headed into a gorge; our decision was to take the opposite direction. Not sure where the gorge would come out it was best to go the other way. Passing two very large rocks, one on each side of the trail, we hear a tribal war cry from behind us.

Dad yells out “YE HA!” - Slaps his horse on the ass – bam off to race speed. I did not take time the time to think, following his lead was the best for the moment. Hauling ass full speed, stomping the ground with a powerful stride, the brush slapping up against the horses chest, didn’t even see it coming, I take a solid branch to the face, takes no time to start bleeding pretty damn good, but there was no stopping. Approaching the main trail a stunning hard right turn was on the menu. Like a rock skipping off the water the turn is executed to perfection. Right on pace behind my Dad; I heard him yell –

“Get ready to dismount with your rifle!”

Before I could respond he was braking and on the ground. His dismount was smooth, my attempt, I hit the ground, boots dug in and I did a full flip to my back utilizing every part of my ass to stop, rifle hits me square in the head, hat flies further forward. No time to enjoy the follies, we take a defensive position behind a fallen tree. A clear view of the trail and a good angle to the area we came from. The group was very vocal but not visible as of yet.

A single arrow drops 10 feet behind our position.

“Get tight to the tree son NOW!”

It rained arrows at that moment, on the tree, and all around us.

“That first one was the range finder son. We are going to stay still, two things could happen, they will leave in victory, or they will come here to collect our scalps. With our rifles and the revolvers we are plenty armed. The trick is to not waste a single round.”

“David “

“Yes Dad?” He had a whole new look on his face, something I have never seen before.

“David, you have the center right flank, don’t miss! Our position allows us to keep them in front of us. Just don’t miss son!”

“Yes Sir”

“David, I place them at about 30 yards out. They are not concerned about being quiet. Their arrogance will help.”

“Yes Sir.”

“You ready David?”

“Yes Sir!”

“On 3 Ok”

I nod.

“1 – 2 – 3” – To one knee, swing to face the wall of Indians, left elbow on the tree, steady, I stare down the steel barrel of my rifle, site set on the attackers, heart feels like it is shredding my chest, do or die right now, three rapid rounds from each rifle fills the air.

The Indians were grouped tight; as soon as the first six dropped they started charging hard. The remaining rounds in the rifles locate flesh. Once exhausted of ammo the revolvers are next. Blood, smoke, yelling, the fastest, deadliest, one fucking minute I could imagine; the last two Indians, separated by ten yards broke our defenses. As the first jumped the tree, fully extended, tomahawk in the left hand, club in the right, Dad landed his hunting knife at the belly button and pushed it straight up to his rib cage, catching him mid air. In his disappointing decent I hit him square in the face with a back hand, gun in hand. I turn, hammer lock, trigger, nothing, empty. The second warrior is clearing the tree at this time. He clipped my shoulder with his club but my adrenalin was too high. The impact put my back to him; I kicked him in the rib cage. It knocked both of us on our ass. Rolling in the dirt I grabbed one round from my belt, swapped it with an empty, hammer back, trigger, - the last attacker developed a devastating challenge with the internal contents of his skull releasing from the back of his head. The body lay back to the ground. The Indian assault is over. Simultaneously we jumped to our feet while reloading.

“Nobody left son!”

“Nope – not one”

Dad spun and sat right back down, back to the tree, head down, gun still in hand. I stepped out, adrenaline still peaked, gathered the horses and came back to the tree. Dad was up again.

“Let’s Go Son”

We mounted and rode away at a rapid pace.

“We need to clean your wound Son but let’s put some space between us and them.”

I got to experience his field dressing skills. It took a couple stitches to close the damage up.

Dad handed me a bottle – “Take a swig, this next venture will provide you with a considerable amount of pain.”

Sure as Shit! Started out burning pain, when it was over, I felt sore, and laughed a lot. That was my first drink.

“What am I gonna tell Mom?”

“You’ll figure it out David.”

“Thanks Dad.”

That was the first smile I saw Dad crack that day.

“David, I gotta’ tell ya, after that experience, that damn overwhelming odds experience, I would not want anyone else at my side in the face of extreme danger. Your skills are sharp, you dropped all emotions and we dominated!”

Wow, I was speechless, what a complement.

“I did what I could Dad.”

“Hell ya you did, have another drink, I’ll join ya and let’s go home.”

We did it, what an adventure, my Dad and I made a great team. Keeping up a good pace we headed back to Chicago. By the time we got there my face was purple and yellow. I had no idea what to tell Mom.

So happy to get home we just left our stuff at the stable. Hopped on a carriage headed back to the house, just gazing out the side, watching, people everywhere, noisy, so very different than the trail. Mom must have sensed our approach; she came running out of Mrs. Rose’s house, Mrs. Rose standing on the porch behind her. Mom was wearing a blue dress, red cooking apron still on with flour all over it. Someone was cooking pies.

Mom and Dad collided with a huge hug; she turned to me, took notice of my face, and looked back at Dad.

“Don’t look at me baby, he’s your son.”

“David? What happened to your face?”

“Well, Mom - We were riding home and this wonderful apple tree jumped out right in front of me.”

“Oh David, maybe next time you could consider ducking.”

“Ya, that’s a good idea Mom” - we all laughed.

“You two rough riders hungry?”

“Yes Ma’am!”

“You bet Baby!”

“I have a roasted chicken cooking, what do you think about we make a basket and go to the lake front?”

“Let’s do it!”

The stage took us the short distance to the lake. It was about 90 degrees that day, dry as can be, no rain since July, there was a pleasant wind picking up. Mom had so much to talk about. I sat out in front of them, feet in the water sun on my back. Dad propped up against a gigantic maple tree, Mom next to him, umbrella spinning away. She was so happy we were back, talking on and on about the book store, all the people she was meeting, how the train and stock yards were helping the business boom. Dad just sat there nodding, smiling and drinking. I so wanted to talk about the trip but it was not the topic for Mom.

Hours passed, we ate all the food, Dad knocked off his bottle, and we slowly headed back to the house, the wind started picking up more rapidly. Mom and Dad held hands and giggled all the way home. It was almost like I wasn’t there, just like when he came home from the war.

Back at the house Dad spoke up. “Son”

“Yes Dad”

“It’s gonna be a good storm Son, secure the yard and make sure Mrs. Rose’s yard is put away.” “Ok Dad”

“One more thing”

“Yes?”

“See ya in the morning, your Mom and I will be turning in for the night.”

“Good Night”

I secured both yards, scored a piece of apple pie, and went to my room. It was the first time in my bed in weeks. I was looking forward to this. Down the hall at the end is Mom and Dads room, it sounded like a party. Nothing will separate those two. Sleep takes hold of me.

The deep sleep that consumed my body was shattered by ringing bells. I jumped and turned, not used to being in bed I spun and fell to the floor. That reminded me how much my face hurt, that damn tree.

Next thing I here: “DAVID! DAVID! Get dressed and I mean NOW!”

I gagged a bit realizing there was a cloud of smoke. Again the bells, now I also noticed crying and screaming. I looked out the window and smoke was everywhere. Dressed and out the door, the issue was clear, a very big problem! To the south of our house, the city was in flames. The roof tops of our block were on fire. Everything south of that was completely engulfed in flames. Mom comes running out of the house across the street – “David! Take the baby”

I run over to her, grab a child rapped in a wet blanket.

Dad follows with two small kids. “David, stay right here with them.”

A huge crash – two doors down to the south a house completely collapsed nothing but a huge bon fire now. The wind of the cave in cleared the smoke for a moment and I could see down to Michigan Ave. The sight was the most terrifying thing ever. As far as I could see, Chicago is burning, flames going so far into the sky.

“DAVID!”

I snap around.

Dad yells out “LETS GO NOW!”

“Wait” – Mom yells as she runs into Mrs. Rose’s house “She hasn’t come out yet.”

“BABY!” My Dad yells out. “DON’T, PLEASE DON’T BABY!”

She did not listen and went right into the house. The roof and the second floor was burning, to the right of her house, my house was going down.

“NO BABY!” My Dad shrieks one more time, as he follows her into the house. The heat was immense I could hardly breathe standing in the middle of the street. Then it happened - the most terrifying event of my life takes place. In an all consuming ball of flame Mrs. Rose’s house collapsed.

“DAD!!!!!!!”

“MOM!!!!!!”

They didn’t come back out!

I was rushed with the kids into a wagon and taken out of there. I cried for the rest of the night. Just like that – Mom and Dad are gone.

We were taken to a camp well outside of town. There were so many people spread out all over, so much lost. The Army assembling tents off to one side, other soldiers, manning tables, handing out supplies. Standing in my place, staring at the soldier handing blankets to an old woman, covered in soot, reality strikes hard. All that I have is on my back, no tooth brush, socks, clean pants, a shirt, nothing, I have nothing! In a sea of people I stand alone. Everything we all worked so hard for is gone. I begin looking around, faces all the same, free of emotion, lifeless. A priest goes from group to group, praying, blessing, hugging, reassuring, and loving. The priest makes his way to me – “Son, are you ok?”

“Yes Sir”

“Can I pray with you son?”

“It’s all gone, everything, my Mom and Dad, what you see is all I have.” No longer able to fight back the tears, my eyes well up, fluid fills my sinuses.

“I have no fight left Father. What am I suppose to do? Where do I go?” I sit on the ground, cross my arms putting on them on my knees and bury my head. The priest puts a comforting hand on my head.

“You face great loss, the city has faced great loss, and you are not alone my son. I know it feels that way, but it will pass, be strong. In your suffering you will find strength. Be patient, take it day by day. If you continue in need, find me, everyone and no one is alone here.”

I look up, face soaked, “thank you Sir.”

He walks away, a breeze picks up. With the wind comes a powerful reminder of current events. Ash and smoke roll through like a cloud, the smell, oh the smell, what a horrible scent. Burnt everything collected in one odor. A soldier hands me a blanket and pillow; another hands me a chunk of bread and a canteen of water. They nod and continue their work. Feelings are hard to put to words; physically and mentally numb. I eat my portion, a little water, must conserve. With my new pillow and blanket I make the spot currently possessed a bedroom. In a former circumstance I would be so happy lying under the stars. There are no stars today, only smoke and ash clouds. I fall asleep to the sounds of anguish, crying; so much lost.

Awaking to the chatter of horses in the distance; sitting up I rub my eyes, forgetting the condition of my stitches and face, the soot remaining on my hands grinds my wound, fuck, reality slams again like a hammer, there is no change in the accommodations, just more people and tents. I gather my blanket and pillow; dust off my hat and begin to search out the sound of the horses. Walking through the maze of the lost the Army announces marshal law has been implemented to prevent injury and looting. “No one shall enter the city today, anyone attempting to do so will be arrested. Once the area has been determined to be safe escorts will be provided for groups wishing to enter.”

I continued the walk of the heartbroken, there was a mig-shift stable and I could see my horse. It turns out Victor the other stable hands were able to evacuate, with a little more searching I find my Dad’s horse. The saddles and all the gear was still on them. All the guns, food and supplies right where we left them.

“Hello David”

The stable hand walks up.

“You Ok?”

“Yes and no. I got out but my parents didn’t.” I broke down right then. On my knees I began sobbing. Allowing me time to collect myself the Victor gave me a bottle of gin.

“Here David, it won’t bring your parents back but it will get you through the day.” I took the bottle and sipped it, but after that I had no desire to drink. Once we were allowed to enter a group of us went back to our street. All of it was flattened, piles of burnt wood, coal and ash. Nothing really to indicate we ever lived there. I knew though, I knew where the house was, ours and Mrs. Rose’s, where Mom and Dad went in and never came out.

Just could not understand why.

Why? Why them?

No more roasted chicken, no more pie, no more – get a haircut.

Never will I ride with my Dad again.

A wagon came by, I asked if I could ride, the driver told me they were heading down town and I must stay on the wagon. I nodded and climbed up with those anxious to see the city. There was a paper being handed around. Reporters were on the scene.

One of the writings read:

It was the completeness of the wreck; the total desolation which met the eye on every hand; the utter blankness of what had a few hours before been so full of life, of associations, of aspirations, of all things which kept the mind of a Chicagoan so constantly driven.

We passed the post office and custom house; it was suppose to be fire proof, not so much today. A grand three story building, outside walls still intact somewhat, but the inside gone. We came to State Street; I shouldn’t have gone on this ride. Book Sellers Row, the store my mother ran and loved so very much. A five story building, strong, big, a skeleton remained, only along the front facing the street, the rest completely gone. Once white, now a blackened mess. We come to the corner of State and Quincy, the location of the Palmer House, 8 stories high reaching to the sky. A few short months ago I was sneaking around watching the grand ball Mom and Dad were at, now completely gone, a pile of blackened rubble. Burnt stone scattered all around, thrown from the collapse. I couldn’t take it; I sat down in the middle, head in my hands. I looked no more, I didn’t move until we got back to the camp. Once back I went straight to the stable and asked Victor if I could take the horses.

“You can but don’t go to the city David. They will shoot.”

“I’m not, I just got back from there I never want to see it again.”

“I’m done.”

I mount my horse; my Dad’s palomino will be my pack horse.

“Good Bye Chicago”

“Good Bye Mom”

“Good Bye Dad”