Chapter Selection: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

1.

The normally cheering campfire could not raise our spirits that warm summers' evening as we sat silently contemplating the terrible news we had just heard from a wandering loner who happened by our little encampment. The drifter had told us of a terrible Indian uprising around the Powder River area and that it had led to the massacre of General Custer and his entire command. This news took some taking in at first. We didn't want to believe the stranger but he swore that it was true and, besides, we figured that he had nothing to gain by telling us such a tragic tale.

Once we had got over the initial shock we invited the drifter to join us for supper and told him he was welcome to bunk with us for the night. The supper proved to be a very sombre and silent affair with no one wanting to speak of what had happened at the place called Little Big Horn. Of course, most of us in the six-man group were still wet behind the ears youngsters and we did not know how to take the news, but, Big Joe was older and more experienced than us and it was he that took to talking about the tragedy first."Just don't seem right, is all," he drawled as he took a burning stick from the fire and lit his smoke with it. His dark eyes seemed lifeless and his speech was flat and unemotional as he continued with, "A feller like Custer should of known better than ta mess around with a whole pestle o' Injuns like that. I mean, what the hell was he thinkin' of?" For a long moment he got no reply as we took in thought about what Big Joe had just said.

Eventually, the youngest of our group, Johnny Sixsmith, piped up with, "Seems ta me that Custer be a dumb ass mule fer doin' what he gone and done. Twernt no sense in it.twernt no sense at all." Now the drifter took up the conversation. His vivid blue eyes were dancing by the firelight and his drawn features cast shadows about his own thin face. It game him a spooky appearance and put me in mind of some kind of demonic vulture. "Ain't any use us jawin' too much on the matter We don't know what the hell really happened out there by the Greasy Grass*. Reckon as ta how you boys should be thinkin' around how yer gonna proceed from here on in."

We knew what the drifter was talking about for we were right on the edge of Sioux country making our way toward any cow town that might be taking on hands in Wyoming. Three weeks before we had left El Paso, Texas after the last trail had ended and we had decided to stick together and try our luck up north with the cattle runs there. Our journey had been pretty uneventful and we had proceeded at a leisurely pace. Relaxing and hunting, fishing and funning. Slow and easy it had been until now and the terrible news the drifter had brought with him.

One-armed Jack, our camp cookie, spoke up next. "Reckin' the stranger be right. Ta git where we be goin' we'd have ta march right on through where all dem riled up savages be at and I fer one, don't have me a particular hankerin' fer doin' that!" Jack had only put in to words that which we were all thinking. How the hell were we going to proceed from here? "Well, " said I as I took to creating a cigarette for myself, "I think we ain't got much choice in the matter. If'n we continue on our way through Sioux country we'd have our hair lifted afore ye could spit and say yer prayers. Those buggers be so riled up at the moment, they ain't just gonna let us wander through without scalping us and hanging us out ta dry. I mean, here we be, six fellers with four horse's eight mules, two wagons, three rifles, six pistols and two scatterguns. Fat lot o' good we could do with that lot if'n ol' Sittin' Bull decides ta come and pay us a visit!"

Now Little Danny and Oregon Bill Munroe spoke on the matter for the first time.
Danny looked from one to the other, as he seemed to take in what our faces were saying. With his usual nervous stammer, he spluttered, "R…reckon. That w…what ye s…say be right, Poncho. Sittin' Bull and h…his boys 'll be a-struttin' around like peacocks on a s…summers picnic. W…we'd have no chance agin 'em. Maybe we s…should go on back ta El Paso and f…fergit W…Wyoming." "Hogwash!" snapped Oregon Bill Munroe angrily. "Ye be all nothin' but a bunch o' lily livered, yeller bellied pissants who still be a-cryin' fer ya mammy's tit!" The big mans face was distorted with rage and he spat as he went on. "We come too damned far and we be closer ta Wyoming than we be ta Texas right now and we need the damned work that we can pick up there. I don't know about you fellers but I'm just about flat broke an' in desperate need o' work. No Injuns 'll grab ye. They be too busy huntin' down soldier boys ta be bothered by the likes of a few driftin' cowpokes like us. Where's ya back bone at, fellers? I say we carry on and take a walk through Sittin' Bull's own damned lodge like we was takin' a walk in the park!"

What Bill was saying about money being short and us needing the work was an undeniable fact but, the way the rest of us figured it, it was just too dangerous to continue in into the heart of the Indians' homeland.
A decision had to be made, and soon. "We gotta figure out what we're gonna do," I said as I threw some more wood on to the fire and stepped hurriedly back as the flames caught hold of the dry kindling and sparks exploded into the night sky. " 'Suppose the only way around it is ta put it to a vote." "Vote be horse apples!" snapped Bill. "You little boys can run on back ta Texas if'n you've a mind ta, but I'm a-goin' onta Wyomin' just as we all planned ta do and I'll go on my own if'n I have to."
It was obvious by the tone of his voice that he wasn't going to change his mind no matter what we said or did. Oregon Bill Munroe was just that kind of guy.

The drifter rejoined the conversation with, "Now I know this ain't none o' my business, but I only think it polite to let you know that I too am heading north. I have my reasons for doing so and they do not concern you, but I would be glad of some company along the way. I'll travel on with you, Bill, if you've a hankering for company." Bill nodded his head enthusiastically as he agreed to the drifters offer.
"There!" he cried. "Doesn't that take the biscuit? The buddies I've ridden with fer these two years past won't back me up but a stranger who we don't even know will. He's a man. The rest of ye be scaredy-cat cowards!" he spat into the fire. There was venom in his tone of voice as well as a hint of sorrow and regretfulness.
One-armed Jack mumbled that he though we should rest up for the night and take stock of the situation come the morning. The others agreed and we retired to our bedrolls under the stars.