Yankton

Chapter 25

Chapter 25 The Hard Ride

Mark and I didn't say much for the rest of the day, I could tell that our shoot-out with the would-be bandits was weighing on his mind as well. As we rode, I couldn't get the woman's picture out of my mind, from time to time; I would take the tin type from my pocket and study it.

"I hope I didn't just kill your husband, who, in a moment of weakness, fell in with bad companions promising quick riches," I thought as I looked at the woman's face. I had killed a lot of the enemy during my time in the Middle East, and none affected me the way this incident did. It was snowing steady now, light but steady, O'Rourke had given us the name of Andrew and Sarah Connors who were homesteaders living north of present day Chadron Nebraska. According to Mr. O'Rourke, Andrews's father had served in O'Rourke's unit during the war, and once they discovered that they had grown up practically neighbors in Ireland, they became fast friends.

Their home was partially sod, the other half wood, with a dug-out thrown in as good measure. Right now it was serving as their stable, housing a dairy cow, a yearling calf which Andy said they were raising it for beef. There was also a hog in the menagerie as well, it and some chickens shared their own "soddie," built next to the house. There were also two boys, one seven, the other three, and from what I gathered, there had been a girl as well but she had only lived for a year. The couple welcomed us with open arms after I produced a letter O'Rourke had given me to give to them. Apparently he had been in recent contact with Andrew's father who was living near DeKalb Illinois and had asked O'Rourke to check on his son and daughter-in-law.

In exchange, for letting us spend the night, Mark offered to give the whole family medical check-ups. All appeared to be in good health, however later, he told me,

"Actually I was very surprised to find them in that good of health, but then I'm looking at some damn tough people from the nineteenth century, a lot of the Afghan civilians I used to check were in the same sort of health. It comes from the lack of sweets, long hours of hard work which translates to exercise. I bad water doesn't get them…or Indians, they should be just fine." Just before we left, he gave Mrs. Connors a package of Tylenol and aspirin, along with a couple bottles of vitamins as well as a bottle of Halizone tablets to purify water writing down explicit instructions as well. When she thanked him, he told her,

"What I have given you isn't the run-of-the-mill patent medicine Mrs. Connors, This stuff will really work, and that's why you have to be very careful with the dosage. I've written all the instructions down."

We shared our MRE's with the family all marveling at the wonderful food and the way it was packaged.

"This all comes from Switzerland," I told them. "There is a company over there making this stuff; I have a good friend living in Germany who told me about the company, the food is expensive but very good." Mark was doing everything he could to keep from breaking out in laughter, later telling me,

"Someday your story-telling is going to get you in trouble young man!" Both of us realized that these tall tales were sometimes necessary to satisfy curiosity and to prevent further inquiry.

We enjoyed their hospitality and filled them in on all the latest news, when Mr. Connors spoke of worry over the Indians; I gave him two Winchesters and a couple handguns along with all the ammunition we had recovered. While we sat and talked, I realized that I was looking at people who had all but disappeared from my time, these were young pioneers who were laying it all on the line just for the opportunity to farm their own land, and live as they wished. Mr. Connors expressed interest in the Black Hills area but I told him the soil wasn't as good, too many rocks and trees.

"However," I added, "If things don't work out for you here, look us up, we're just south of Deadwood and Lead. The land will support raising horses or cattle, always in demand out there." He thanked me for the advice and gave me a couple letters to mail for him in Sidney.

The next morning we discovered roughly two inches of snow on the ground, the temperature hovering in the low thirties. Our tracks would give us away now but we had no choice. We pushed hard all that day, stopping briefly around noon to heat some coffee, and a quick bite to eat. We started seeing more people as well as a couple wagons and even a stagecoach heading for Deadwood. Around three in the afternoon we found some high ground and climbed it for a look-around. I spotted some riders on horseback off in the distance to our rear, but they were too far away to tell if they were whites or Indians. By now, the snow had stopped and it had warmed a bit, but Mark and I had picked up the pace to put a little distance between us and the riders behind us.

Not long after, we heard the sound of shooting; it wasn't steady fire indicating a fire fight but slow and intermittent. Way off to the west we spotted a great brown and black mass spread out over the white landscape. Buffalo! We sought out a small rise where we could get a better view, our binoculars picking out a vast herd to the southwest. We also spotted a group of men who were obviously "hiders," people who shot these magnificent beasts strictly for their hides, and over time damn near brought the buffalo to near extinction. I was pissed off now, even talking about sneaking up on these shits and dropping everyone of them.

"I know how much this sort of thing bothers you," said Mark, "But you're not going to change anything, and after the other day…" Sadly, he was right; the herd was too far away to take a decent picture, so we rode on.

Around late afternoon we spotted a lone tree, and what appeared to be some kind of structure off to our left. Thinking it might make a good stopping place, we headed towards the tree. The tree was a large cottonwood, and the structure was a half finished cabin that featured a stone fireplace. Since the ground wasn't rocky those stones had to have been hauled in from some distance. Another thing we found were two wooden crosses under the tree. One read,

"Mary Clark, wife and mother," the other, "Sally Clark, loving daughter, the lord took you too soon." Both were dated 1876 so the deaths were recent. As we stood looking at those simple crosses, Mark and I wondered about who these people were. There was also a fairly new wagon parked next to the half-finished cabin with a broken rear wheel.

After a few moments of contemplation Mark spoke up,

"I have a hunch some poor guy lost his wife as well as his daughter, to Cholera or dysentery, said "f**k it!" and just walked off." The cabin had a partial roof and thankfully, it took in the fireplace. While I got a fire going and the horses taken care of Mark went about building a ring around the two graves with rocks from a nearby pile, as well as re-doing the writing on the crosses.

I said nothing, or interfered with his task, as I saw him do this for a defiled grave once in Iraq, this was something he took very seriously so I said nothing. He didn't speak anymore about it, but I knew it was weighing on his mind. Shortly after it got dark and we were finishing our supper, a shouted voice from out on the prairie called,

"In the shack, can I join you?" Without a word, we took up positions charging our weapons. Mark donned his night vision device, while I peered into the night scope on my rifle.

"How many are you?" I called back.

"Just myself," came the reply, he was a liar, as we could see three other forms starting to fan out trying to flank us. Without saying a word, I took out the guy on the right, then called,

"Now how many are you?" The reply was immediate gunfire. Mark took out the guy trying to work around to our left while the other two dropped to the snowy ground. They were only a hundred yards out, an easy shot for me, as my night scope was easily picking them out. We hunkered down until they paused to reload then I took out one, which caused the other to panic and start to run back to his horse, sadly he didn't make it.

Rather than go stomping around in the dark, we took turns sleeping, and then inspecting our handiwork in the morning. There were four of them all right, by this time they were good and frozen so we had a hard time going through their pockets and peeling off their holsters. From what we found in both their pockets and saddlebags came up to around sixty dollars, one coin being a twenty dollar gold piece. I didn't know a whole lot about gold coins at this point but something about this coin caught my eye, so I put it inside my wallet. Their weapons consisted mainly of the standard army colts, Winchester rifles, a Henry, and a Spencer. I wanted to drag the bodies over to the shack, but Mark nodded towards the two graves,

"No," was all he said, I understood. Before leaving, we dusted the snow off their faces, and took their pictures; Mark took a couple of the graves, as well as the shack.

"Over time those graves and even that tree will disappear," no one will ever know these people ever existed, but these pictures will show that they did." Mark could get very maudlin and sentimental at times, this was one of them.

Two of the horses wouldn't let themselves be caught, so we grabbed the other two, and continued south. We didn't arrive in Sidney until after dark, I was afraid Mr. Welsh might have closed up for the night and we'd be considered late, however we were in luck and he was still in the freight office.

"I was starting to wonder about you boys," He said gruffly, "Fraid I was gonna hafta wire Mike, and tell 'em you two hadn't shown up yet." Together, we opened the box, and checked its contents. Welsh was satisfied everything was there, and counter signed the receipt. After telling him of the previous attempts on the strongbox, he asked us if we would consent to sleeping in the freight office as extra protection.

"I'll buy you boys breakfast over at the hotel in the morning as a small thank-you for doing this."

So Mark and I slept in the locked office, making beds from sacks of grain, and some extra blankets we found, we laid our sleeping bags out. Sometime during the night a couple trains went through. The second time, I was able to get to the window in time open it, and get an incredible picture of an east bound steam train rumbling through. It is truly an awesome photo of a steam locomotive lit up by fire leaking from its boiler and firebox, shrouded in steam, a picture I was told train buffs would pay thousands for.