Yankton

Chapter 46

Chapter 46 Action At Clark's Cabin

That evening as we made camp, I squatted down by our prisoners who were still blindfolded and tied to two small trees.

"You two going to behave yourselves?" (no answer)

I'll remove those gags so you can eat, but you have to promise no more outbursts, a nod of the head will suffice." They both nodded, so I removed their gags but not their blindfolds, the one calling himself Nate then spoke,

"I heard you talking to the sheriff; you got some fancy rifle or something?"

"Still pissed off that I got the drop on your partners in crime?"

"You kilt all my brothers," he snarled.

"Sorry to hear that," I replied, "Like I said, f**k with the bull, you get the horns, I'm sorry your brothers are dead, really I am, but some days you eat the bear, and some days the bear eats you. Everybody wants to be a gangster until it's time to do gangster s**t, deal with it."

Bullock asked me again, why I insisted on keeping the prisoner blindfolded,

"It keeps them disoriented, along with the fact they don't know where we are. Besides, I need to clean my rifle and I don't want them watching me, if it bothers you that much, I'll remove them while they eat." Bullock watched very intently while Mark and I cleaned our rifles, especially Mark with his AR. He marveled at how easily they broke down for cleaning, and as we removed each part, Mark or I described what it did. Although we had shown him earlier, the sheriff was amazed at how small 5.56 ammo was, and that the bullets were copper jacketed, and pointed.

All I can tell you sheriff is that in about fifteen years or so a major revolution in powder development is going to come along. It will be called "smokeless powder," and I think you already know why. " I went on to give him a quick primer on the ballistics of modern powder, and bullet design.

"Were you to try and build a rifle like this M1A, using black powder you'd have a major failure right off the bat, as you're well aware, black powder tends to foul very easily, and the pressure produced isn't very high, no, I'm afraid a whole lot of firearm development has to take place before weapons like these are available."

The weather stayed nice, so we made good time, our prisoners did nothing but bellyache about being gagged and blindfolded, so at Bullock's insistence, I removed them. Stopping briefly in Bridgeport, We sold the horses picked up from Albert's gang, along with most of their rifles and pistols, with the exception of the Spencer. Bullock took care of the transactions claiming he had a better idea of what good horses sold for. Along with the money we found in the men's pockets, the three of us split close to four hundred dollars.

We also picked up the Deadwood/Sidney stagecoach road, which up to this point was quite a bit west of us. Memories of that trip last fall returned as well, the picture of the woman I had taken from the bandits pocket occupied my mind, along with thoughts of that shootout.

As we passed near courthouse, and jail rocks, I told Bullock that even after the passage of over a hundred and thirty-seven years; signs of the Oregon Trail were still much in evidence.

Late in the afternoon, a stagecoach passed us heading south, acting quickly, I managed to get a couple shots of it with my camera, later I had one of the pictures enlarged, and framed to reside on the living room wall in my modern Deadwood home. Once again we made for the old Abner Clark cabin, almost missing it, as there was now nothing left, save for the two lonely graves, the stone chimney and four piles of stone that had been the cabin's foundation. After Mark and the sheriff shot a couple rattlesnakes, we checked around, but didn't find anymore. With scattered scraps of wood, we built a fire in the old chimney and made camp. As the sun went down, the call of the whip-o-wills added sadness to the place. We told sheriff Bullock the story behind the graves, and the tragic story of Abner Clark.

We took our usual turns at guard duty, with no one storming our camp like last time, in the morning, I took some azimuth readings, thinking that perhaps sometime I might drive down here and try to locate this site, I was reasonably sure we were very close to the little crossroads of Dalton, but that effort would have to wait. I also did something else that I was sure saved our lives, or at least gave us an edge.

Coming up on the backside of the stone chimney, on my horse, I was able to boost myself up and work my way up to the top. The protruding stones allowed me purchase, as I managed to gain elevation. The chimney was the highest object for miles around, and I wanted to see what was ahead. Sure enough, my efforts paid off, I spotted a group of riders coming up the trail in a rather quick fashion, something told me they were looking for us.

"We've got company people, battle stations!" Even though we had been alerted, there was no real cover other than the chimney. The piles of rocks left a lot to be desired, but we had no choice.

By now the riders had spotted me climbing down, and started moving in our direction at a trot. We were starting to wish we hadn't sold the horses, they would have provided some semblance of cover, the riders stopped a little over a hundred yards away, and called out.

"We know you are carrying gold, just leave it on your packhorse and ride away, we won't bother you, otherwise…"Both Mark and I opened up putting as much lead downrange as we could. Lying flat on the ground, we were hidden by the tall prairie grass, but it meant that we couldn't see our targets either; all we could do was to take educated guesses as to their locations. I heard one of our horses scream as the riders opened up as well, Albert and Nate had already been mounted on their horses, tied to their saddles, suddenly both their horses bolted, and began to take off. The riders then began to direct their fire to the hapless men as their horses ran terrified towards the north. I told the sheriff not to shoot, as the smoke from his rifle would give away our location, but if he wanted to take his chances behind the chimney, to go for it. This gave Mark and me the chance to crawl off to our right, where we resumed our fire.

Two of the men then took off trying to chase down Nate and Albert, but I quickly popped up and immediately shot their horses, both dropping like rocks. Marks semi-auto fire through the tall grass must have been effective, because we heard someone cry out that they had been hit. Bullock began firing from behind the chimney, the smoke from his rifle drawing fire as I knew it would. Mark and I kept up the heat putting out a high volume of fire, some of it eventually finding targets. It was hell with the lid off, shouting and shooting, fire was coming our way but was generally high or wide, suddenly the sound o two riders charging toward us. "What's this?" Shouted Mark, "The charge of the f*****g light brigade?" I heard Bullock fire, apparently hitting one of the men charging us, as I heard the sound of a body hitting the ground, his horse immediately appearing over me less than a foot away.

Both Mark and I began to fire where we thought the other man might be. Accurate, sustained rifle fire, that's what we were taught, and it came through for us. I heard a horse scream in pain, and the rider cry out as well, then both came crashing down mere feet in front of us. The man was still alive, but his mount rolled to the left trapping the man's leg under the horse's body. Without a second thought, Mark put two rounds into the man's head, blowing it apart. I wasn't sure how many were left, but they must have thought they were up against a whole regiment for the amount of fire we were laying down, I heard shouts then the sound of horses taking off to the south. Mark and I were down to a half magazine each, the rest was in our saddlebags, and no telling where our horses went. We crawled over to the chimney where Bullock was pressed up against.

"How many were there?" He asked,

"I think there were seven or eight," I replied, "Hanging on to this chimney, I couldn't get a steady picture." The sheriff appeared to be in a daze, but then said,

"Any idea where Albert and Nate went to?"

"I saw them charging off towards the northwest," said Mark, "They could be halfway to Chadron by now." Bullock studied Mark and I for a moment, then exclaimed,

Astounding…Simply astounding, I believe the two of you expended more fire than a whole Calvary unit." Both Mark and I just glad to be alive chuckled,

"Sheriff, you should see it when a whole rifle team is shooting at someone, and they're shooting back with the same type of weapons, all on full automatic fire. Then throw in machine guns and a couple mortars, you kina get an idea of what modern warfare is like." He just grimaced and shook his head. We waited for a little over ten minutes, but it looked like our attackers had fled.

It was Bullock's horse that had been shot early in the action, the poor creature still showed signs of life, so the sheriff finished it off with a bullet to the head. We could see horses grazing further afield, but we needed an immediate body count. We counted five dead, one of them with a broken neck apparently received when his horse was shot from under him. The only animal that hadn't run off was our packhorse, only because he had still been tied to the lone tree. Mark found where a bullet had grazed him, and treated it with an antibiotic.

The other's required walking out to them, and trying our damnest not to spook them. It was during this effort that we found the body of Albert, but not that of Nate, or even his horse.

"Like I said, Sheriff," mused Mark, "He's probably clearing Chadron about now."

Eventually, we rounded up our mounts, plus two of our attacker's animals, Bullock appropriating one of them. Again, nothing special in the way of weaponry, but I decided to hang onto some of them for Walt Spears. As the three of us resumed our trip south, Bullock exclaimed,

"Guess I'll just sell the horse and head back on the stage, you boys still going on to Cheyenne?"

""I think so sheriff," I said, I'd like to say I rode the original transcontinental railroad, even just the short distance to Cheyenne, O'Rourke has a man who will send us north with supplies to sell to the prospectors."

"Do they still have trains in your time?" he then asked.

"Sure, but the government handles all the passenger traffic now, Union Pacific is all coal and freight, like all the others, the rail line is still in the same place though."

We rode on a little further, until Bullock rode up next to me,

"I take it you know a lot about me?" I looked at him; this kind of question wasn't like any he had asked before.

"Yeah sheriff, I do, you're in the history books." Bullock seemed to be mulling something over,

"So you know when I'll meet my maker?" Grimacing, and shaking my head, I replied,

"Sorry sheriff, can't go there, believe me I'd like to tell you but it's the same reason I couldn't kill Swearingen, both of you figure prominently in South Dakota history, and that of the black hills. I could tell you, and you might do something that might change things, don't ask me what, I don't know what would happen. The professor who built the time machine we use warned me about this sort of thing, sorry. But I can tell you that your efforts on behalf of Yellowstone and it becoming the first National Park will pay off in the long run. Know that even after a hundred and thirty- seven years, people are still enjoying its beauty." This seemed to perk him up, as I added.

"One more thing sheriff, and it's all I can tell you, in a few years, you will meet a man who hails from Medora up north. In my time it's North Dakota, but now everything is just Dakota territory. Anyway his name is Theodore Roosevelt, and he will become a historic notable in his own right. When you do, you will think of me, and know that everything I've told you is the truth, that's as far as I can go."

Bullock stopped his horse, and extended his hand, as we shook, he said,

"Thank you Mr. Yankton, I'll be looking forward to that time." I grinned, and replied,

"Well do me a favor sheriff, I know I won't be meeting many national figures like presidents or industrial giants, if you would, put in a good word for me to the likes of Calamity Jane, and Charlie Utter, I would have liked to have met Hickok, but I missed him by less than a month." Bullock smiled and replied,

"I'll see what I can do."

We arrived in Sidney without further trouble, grabbing a hotel room and settling with Mr. Welsh. Bullock notified the sheriff concerning the men who attacked us. He had a pretty good idea who it was, some guy named Texas Pete, I told Mark I thought names like that were only found in B westerns. He thanked us and mentioned there might be rewards out for the men but that he would need to head up there to check the bodies before the coyotes got to them. The next westbound train wasn't due until the day after tomorrow, and the stage heading to Deadwood not until tomorrow. Mark and I strolled around town, stopping at a couple gun shops looking for anything interesting. The shops didn't have anything of interest, but we did run into a salesman from Colt who I invited to Purgatory,

"If you can lay your hands on anything special, fancy scrollwork, presentation models, anything with low serial numbers I'm your man, stop by, I'll make it worth your while." The salesman told me another man covered that area, but that he would be sure to pass the word along.

We stopped into a saloon to drink a beer, and pass the time. The place stunk, smelling of unwashed bodies, stale cigar smoke, and beer. As we were sitting there, I happened to spot one of the saloon's "girls," talking to a cow hand. As I studied her, it suddenly dawned on me, that was the woman in the picture I had taken off one of the men who had attacked Mark and I last fall. I brought her to Mark's attention, who, after studying her agreed it was the same woman, but not as pretty.

"Probably been whorin' all this time, poor nutrition and medical care," he added.

No doubt about it, she was the woman in the picture. The cowboy had apparently rejected her offer for a "poke" got up and left, I caught her attention and waved her over.

"Looking for a poke cowboy?" she asked, "How 'bout a drink first?"

"Last fall, my partner and I were on our way down from Deadwood, when a bunch of thugs attacked us, unfortunately, it ended badly for them. On one of the men, I found a tin type of a woman…That woman was you." She started to get up but then stopped and sat back down.

"Was this man dead?" she asked,

"I just told you, their attempted robbery ended badly for all of them." She put her head down for a moment, then brought it up and sighed.

"His name was Bill White, he asked me to marry him, said he was trying to build a stake, and buy some railroad land west of here."

"I'm sorry ma'am," I replied, "He was part of a gang that was trying to kill us." She sniffed and patted my hand,

"It's all right, I never thought he was serious, I'd almost forgot about him."

"Listen," I said, "Is there anything I can do for you, you don't look too happy, I know your line of work can really take a toll."

"Where are you boys from?" she asked.

"Place called Purgatory, just a little north of Deadwood, we have a saloon, Mark here runs a medical clinic, the place is starting to grow."

"That so," came the reply, "I'd ask to go with you, but I'm afraid I'm going to die here, there's no getting out."

"I take it the owner has you on the hook for a bill you can never pay?" The woman frowned,

"You got it cowboy, fifty damn dollars, but it's fifty dollars I can never pay, just when I think I've got the money, something always happens, someone steals it, or I get sick and have to pay the doctor, or one of the other girls needs a loan, that picture for example."' Just then Mark spoke up,

"Hold on there Brian, think what Montana will say if you go draggin her home." He had a point. The w***e then asked,

"You married or something?"

"No, not yet anyway, Montana runs the saloon, and she already has two girls, but she treats them like sisters, she used to be in the business so she understands the life you women lead. Look, I can't promise you anything, she will no doubt be pissed off at me, I've already brought home one woman, but she'll be running the boarding house we're building. She's also got another lady there as well who is running our keno table, as you can guess; Purgatory seems to be a woman's world."

The woman looked at me and broke out laughing, then said,

"You say this Montana treats her girls well?" Mark then broke in.

"Like Brian told you, she treats Kitty and Maggie like sisters, plus I run the clinic along with my future wife, and offer free medical care."

"By the way," I asked, "What is your name?"

"Annie O'Donnell, look, I see Mike giving me the evil eye, I got to get back to work."

"Is he the guy you owe the fifty to?"

"Yeah, what? You gonna pay him off?"

"Let's just say I'm going to make him an offer he can't refuse, meanwhile, if there's anything you want to take with you, you'd better grab it now."

"You know Brian," cautioned Mark, "You can't save everyone." He had a point, but I replied,

"I'm aware of that, but the fact I came across her picture, and have thought about her so much, and now here we are, there's just too much coincidence. Don't worry, I'm not dropping Montana we're too solid for that. I'm giving this woman a second chance, what she does with it is strictly up to her."