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8.

We buried Oregon Bill as best we could out there in the meadow. The hole was four foot deep and wide enough to take his body that we had enshrouded in a grey army blanket. Buffalo Bill said a few words from the Bible and then we filled in the shallow grave and Oregon Bill Munroe. His bombastic attitude, loud roaring voice and all his tall tales and downright lies were gone forever. I knew there and then that I would miss him terribly. I recall thinking about the buffalo herds again as Bill spoke the words from the Bible. I though of them and I though too of my old friends. One Armed Jack, Big Joe, Johnny Sixsmith and Danny 'The Stutter.' How would they take the news of Oregon Bill's untimely death? One thing was for sure; I would have to tell them by wire just as soon as I got back to the fort.

The dead slaver's we left out in the open for whatever found them. I felt no pity for them and no desire to 'do the right thing' by them. The Mexican we had interrogated died as we finished shovelling on the last of the earth atop of Oregon Bill's grave.
We gathered up our stuff and rounded up the horses and mules and we left that place of death and misery far behind us. Red Deer was gone and the women and children would never be heard of again. Sold into slavery for a pittance by a disgruntled and angry Nez Pierce that, as fate would have it, was killed in a riding accident some two years later.

Just over a week after the incident at what Bill and I called, the battle Of Munroe Meadow, we were riding once again through the gates of Fort Lincoln. Nothing had changed in the weeks we had been away. There was no reason why it should of, but it did look awfully different to me. Bigger than I remembered it and busier. Maybe I was looking at it through different eyes. Older eyes. Eyes that had now seen things that they had never seen before. Wiser eyes?

We were beat upon our arrival but Cody insisted that he hand in his report to Captain Miller straight away. That's just the sort of guy Cody was, I guess. A waste of time and effort and the waste of a life would be the main stay of the report, I was sure.
I went straight to the bunkhouse and had myself a bath, and then I sauntered over to the saloon for a beer and one of the magnificent steaks that the bartender created.
After that, I slept for the rest of the day and all through the night. I awoke next morning to the sound of a bugle playing on the parade ground. I washed and breakfasted then I went over to the telegraph office and got the fellow there to send a message to my pards in El Paso. I knew that they would be staying at a certain hotel there. It was cheap but clean and we always stayed there when we were in town.

The sombre message was duly sent and I retired back to my room for the day. No one disturbed me that day. Not Buffalo Bill or Captain Miller. It was out of respect for my loss, I guess. As the sun gave way to the moon, there was a tap on my door. I opened it to find the man from the telegraph office standing there with a piece of paper in his hand.
"Got a reply to your message, sir." Stated the man matter-of-factly. It seemed strange someone calling me 'sir'. I thanked him and closed the door. By the light of a newly lit oil lamp, I read the message from El Paso. But it wasn't what I had been expecting. Not what I had been expecting at all. It was from the sheriff of El Paso informing me that the boys had been incarcerated in the local jailhouse accused of murder!

It appeared that a fight had broken out in the hotel and the boys had become embroiled in it. A man was shot dead and they were accused of the crime. All four of them! The note ended by stating that the trial was set for two weeks come Monday and would be presided over by a circuit judge by the name of Theodore Huntington.
There was, of course, only one thing for it…I would have to return to El Paso and find out what had really happened that night in the hotel. I would have to get permission from Buffalo Bill as I was still attached to the post as a scout. I couldn't just go off as I pleased, but I felt sure he would agree when he knew the circumstances.

I began to make plans for my journey south. A journey that would take me back through the country where Custer had met his fate. Back through a land full of the ghost of a million buffalo. Back through a land that I had first seen as a boy and would now return to as a man.

Oregon Bill Munroe would ride with me on the journey back to El Paso.
Of that, I was certain.

THE END

COPYRIGHT STEVEN J.C.FORBER 2003.

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FOR DEBBIE.