Sand Hills Sioux

By Arch Gallen

Jessup Pike's vision was clear. When the War Between the States ended and the South began to produce again, his land in the north would quickly lose value as would the crops he raised and timber he harvested. While considering his family's future, he seized on President Lincoln signing the Homestead as an answer, seeing clearly how western land was cheap and could be had for little while ranching would be soon an answer to growing cities feeding their people.
Off fighting for the Union, his oldest son Mitchell could not scout for their new home and middle son Step was needed to help run the farm operations and his daughter Katherine was caring for all needful doing in their home while his wife ailed. Only his youngest son Adam could perform the required duty of finding good land with graze and ample water so the decision was made between Jessup and his wife.
Weeks past fifteen, a man in every respect, Adam Pike rode from the only home he ever knew, all the teaching of his kin packed between his ears and a pair of saddlebags loaded with what he gear could carry on the back of a willful, blonde horse named Molly. Built like a bull, owning a mind more keen than men three times his age, Pike faces a vast empty frontier emptied by a War draining every able bodied man east and finds in it opportunity for any with a willingness for hard work.
Meeting well-meaning sheriffs, brutally mean cowhands, and a rancher able to teach a youngster much about life, Adam confronts Indians intent on preserving their ways and cheating freighters hauling goods across brown prairie while encountering a sly, seductive widow with lessons of her own. Adapting to ways unfamiliar as part of discovering worlds he little knew existed, Pike puts to test values of honesty, loyalty, fair play and thrift to tame a wilderness and create for his kin opportunity for their futures.
Sand Hills Sioux is the first of seven books, each a self-contained story, describing exploits and challenges of a youngster driven to meet his duty as he rides a trail through the West. Crossing paths with the French invasion of Mexico, gold rush madness and bands of outlaws willing to murder to hold their position in a lawless Colorado Territory, Pike is forced away from his upbringing of decency into a life focused solely on survival until civilization catches up to him and his kin.
Meticulously researched and historically sound, Western Settler Saga reaches across philosophic, geopolitical and economic boundaries to become a new voice telling how America's West was settled.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Arch Gallen
• Release date: Jan 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301459681

Arch Gallen

Gallen...son of a South Dakota farm boy and a Tennessee lady lives with his wife and two dogs on a 34 acre farm in Lapeer, Michigan. While feeding good people with corn, soybeans and wheat, he shares life with rabbits, groundhogs, raccoons, chipmunk and deer, flocks of wild turkeys both feathered and not, hawks, doves, vultures, and odd varieties of fish (including pike) occupying a small 38 acre lake adjoining their land. Raised in rural Michigan on our traditional American principles of honesty, thrift, hard work and self-reliance, he brings these time honored values to life through the words and deeds of Adam Pike and the cast of Western Settler Saga.

Book preview

Chapter 1

South Central Minnesota, March, 1863

Adam stopped his horse near the top of a rolling hill to survey the town, such as it was, sitting amid the vast sea of knee high grasses with no tree in sight but a few stately cottonwoods growing along a stream farther out. Coming as he did from lands where forests, lakes and swamps were all about with farms cut laboriously among them, this was a view strange to him, the town itself offering little promise. Since riding west from the Mississippi several days prior, he’d seen almighty little in the way of human habitation and was less than sure that this little place held much of that either.

Nudging Molly into a trot, Pike started down the trail. A livery at the near end of the road with a half dozen weathered buildings stretching away faced several low slung places that might be homes or stores, either equally unlikely. Beyond that, one decent kept place was signed as a general store sitting next to a sizable corral with neither horses nor men present although four saddled mounts were tied in front of one shack. The midafternoon sun was growing warm, alone in the clear blue sky.

Crossing in front of the livery, Adam spied an old man sitting, clothes as dusty and dirty as the town itself. He asked where he might get a meal, receiving in return a squinting glare. From his mouth the hostler released a corn cob pipe so old that it might have been the first of its kind in the world and pointed with it wordlessly toward the shack where the horses stood, his gaping mouth displaying few teeth yellowed and broken centered in the lined, grey face.

Stepping down in front of the place indicated Pike scanned it dubiously. Maybe seven foot high with a sod roof, beaten plank walls and two filthy windows didn’t recommend it for a meal house. Still, he decided glancing up and down the street, it was as likely as any other and he was right tired of eating game he’d shot with little go-with to flavor it. Ma had spent some time trying to show him tricks in the kitchen, as had Sis for that matter, but little he could do with venison and rabbit lacking proper cooking pans and those fancy spices that were always handy around the house back home.

Inside was no better than out and perhaps a mite worse. Dust covered everything visible and Adam’s boots kicked up sawdust from the floor as he walked. Sitting at a wide oak table on a bench which served as seats, he watched a short, wide man round a counter and approach him. Four others sat at a table in the corner, surly and unshaven, studying this newcomer over empty whiskey glasses and half finished beers. Pike realized the place was a drinking place mostly, a bar or saloon, as they called it out here.

He knew what they were seeing assuming they could see at all through stale cigar smoke in dim light of two smoking oil lamps hanging from the rafters. A youngster, they’d think, not even shaving yet in home-spun clothes patched in more places than not, wearing clod-covered farmer boots and a beaten old hat that had seen many better days. They would notice, Adam was sure, the twin holsters and pistols he wore as such was yet an uncommon sight and that the holsters were made of fine, hand worked leather. Featuring smoothly finished maple grips, the guns showed little signs of use as they were newly made Remington six cylinder pistols just then making it to market.

Ordering up beef and beans, there being no other choices, and drinking coffee from a battered tin mug, Pike eyed the men briefly before dismissing them as no more interesting than anything else about. When his steak arrived, he dug in with relish, surprised at the freshness and fine aroma of the meat. He’d mostly finished it off before noticing one man rising and stepping in his direction.

Don’t see many strangers like you around here, boy. the man spoke, a mean edge in his voice.

Adam glanced at him from the corner of his eye, continuing his eating while little liking the insult of being called boy.

Taking a stride closer, the man raised his voice. I’m talking at ya’ boy! Answer me!

Pike stood, shoving the bench back a mite with his legs. Speaking conversationally, he replied, I hear you, mister. You get no answer unless you ask a question. Looking the man direct in the eye, he went on, his voice strong, Now where I come from, eating is serious business and we don’t interrupt a man at the table. If you got more yammering to do, I suggest you put a stopper in it until this steak is gone then we can chat about whatever is up your craw.

From behind, the man heard his pals snickering and felt veins in his neck bulge, eyes widening at the impudence of this child. Your momma shoulda’ taught you manners, boy! Since she didn’t, let’s see you go to dancin’ until you learn proper. he sneered, tugging at the gun in his belt.

Adam didn’t hesitate. Drawing with his left hand, he leveled his pistol and triggered it once. A blossom of blood flew where the man’s third button had been, rocking him back on his heels. Pike saw his eyes glaze and face pale with the impact. Slowly, the troublemaker’s knees buckled and he collapsed, sawdust sent up around him.

The others gaped at their dead friend and the inn-keeper stood stunned. After a moment, sure the others wouldn’t challenge him, Adam sat back down, hiding his shaking hands. He had no thought of shooting or killing, just did what came natural when that fellow grabbed iron. His stomach turning, he forked up another bite of meat, making himself chew and swallow as little appetite he had left. Still holding his pistol in his left hand, he raked up the last of the beans and washed them down with the dregs of his coffee, staring across at the others while doing so.

The door swung open and a man stepped in, a slender grizzled type, beaten hat over uncombed strings of hair, his lined face showing no pleasure. One look at the sprawled figure on the floor told all he needed to know before he turned and looked at Pike. The tin star on his chest sent a bolt of fear through Adam, who holstered his weapon promptly.

Addressing him, the Sheriff spoke without kindness. What happened here? he barked.

Nodding toward the dead man, Adam answered evenly. Can’t say for sure, Sheriff. Came in for some grub before riding on and this gent come after me, all loud and mean, then pulled his gun. No idea what or why for, to be honest.

Is that right? the lawman asked the others. Each nodded, various stages of shock on their face. The innkeeper spoke for them all. That’s ‘bout the way it was, Sheriff. The boy did nothing but sit and eat ‘til Vance started up and surely Vance went to pull up his shootin’ iron first.

Turning back to Pike, the Sheriff jerked his head toward the door. Like to see you in my office across the street. I’ll be over in less than a minute.

Never one to argue with the law, Pike dropped a coin on the table to pay for his meal and left, the spring breeze making him aware of sweat on his forehead which he wiped off with his sleeve as the thought arrived of jumping on Molly and taking out. These men may be friends of the dead man, may be wanting Pike to be punished - even hung! – for what he’d done. Killing a man was no small matter, he knew, his gut rumbling and tumbling with fear.

Still, he’d been raised to respect the law and had done nothing wrong. Even back home, the law expects a man to defend himself when another draws a gun on him so in his mind, Pike knew he’d done the only thing he could and Pa would not approve of him running from this sheriff. Walking stiffly to the lawman’s office, he entered through the open doorway then finding a coffee pot on the stove located a cup and filled it before taking a seat facing a desk piled high with papers.

True to his word, the Sheriff arrived prompt. Striding past Adam to the stove, he grabbed a mug and poured coffee then turned and sat in a creaky swivel chair behind the desk. He looked at Adam with a stern gaze, locking Pike’s eyes to his own. Adam swallowed hard, seeing no humor or sympathy in dark grey eyes, affecting a look of wide eyed innocence taught him by Sis for use whenever trouble was upon him. That charade never worked with Ma , he recalled, and likely would not with this hard-bitten town sheriff, either.

Through the steam from his mug, the sheriff told Pike flatly, Boys over there say you did what you had to do. his voice grating and raspy.

So I’m not in any trouble? Adam asked, working to keep his voice from trembling.

Nope, you’re not. the lawman responded, At least not this time. Adam exhaled in relief, tension flowing from him.

They say Vance was just funnin’, trying to embarrass you a mite maybe.

Sheriff, meaning no disrespect, but a man just funning doesn’t draw a gun. Leastways, not where I come from.

The man set down his cup, leaning back with a sigh. Not here, either, son. Vance lived ‘round here all his life; used to be thought of as a good man. the sheriff explained, As he got older he began to drink more’n was good for him. As he drank more he got meaner. What happened today was gonna happen sooner or later an’ we all knew it.

Would’ve rather it hadn’t happened with me involved. Adam offered considerately.

Sure that’s true. None of us take a man’s life lightly, not if we’re of a right mind anyway the sheriff agreed.

Pike nodded then rose to refill his cup and the sheriff’s. The officer introduced himself as Paul Rankin to which Pike replied, proudly, Adam Pike. From Michigan. Setting the coffee pot back down then sitting, he heard a question being put to him. Mind if I ask what brings you through town?

He looked at the lawman warily, worn shirt clean but frayed at the collar, his manner brusque but not unfriendly. Don’t mind. We were raised to respect the law, sir, and I guess it’s your business to know, speaking proper. I’m heading west, looking for some land where my kin can resettle.

The sheriff’s eyebrows raised some, considering the youngster. He saw the boy wearing clothes too small, bulging over thick arms with buttons at his chest holding in defiance of muscles below, curly brown hair obscuring the back of his neck. Pants clung tight around thighs more resembling tree trunks stopped a full couple inches higher than would be expected, altogether a man’s build that Rankin knew would only fill out more with a couple extra years tacked on.

I’m guessing your folks know you’re doing this?

Adam smiled. Yes sir. They’re the ones sending me.

Must have a lot of trust in you. You the oldest?

No, sir! Pike explained, some alarm in his eyes. Other brother Mitchell is the oldest. He’s off fighting for the Union, been gone a couple of years. I’m the youngest.

The sheriff leaned forward, muscled arms folded at the wrist on the messy desk. Your folks sent their youngest to traipse across the west? he asked incredulously.

Not much choice, Sheriff. Sis is occupied taking care of the home as Ma’s been ailing some the last few years. She’s four years younger than Mitchell and burdened for being the only girl. Then other brother Step, he’s the middle one, is all busy helping Pa with the farming and directing what business we got. Used to be Step would just go plowing and seeding but, as Pa’s gotten a few more years and we got a few more hands working, Step become the one to oversee crops, checking on the sawmill and timber cutting, doing all that Pa used to do.

Sounds like your Pa has a big operation going. Why you looking west?

Adam leaned forward, elbows on his knees, casting his eyes to the floor. Pa’s figuring. As he says it, land is dearly priced right now and we’ve got a fair piece of it but out west land is right cheap or even free. Nodding, the sheriff listened carefully.

Once the War is over, Pa believes, land will lose value where we are and once the South starts growing crops again, ours won’t be so well priced. While that’s going on, land out west will start to fill up by soldiers all going home to nothing left and beef cattle will be called for in a bigger way. Pausing, Pike glanced at the man, uncertain what he was knowing or not, adding, Mr. Lincoln signing the Homestead Act not long back making land free for those proving up with homes and such settled all matters for Pa, free being better than purchase at any time.

Reckon I think like your pa, son. All that makes sense to my seeing.

Bobbing his head grateful for hearing, the youngster finished, saying, Me being the only one able to head out, Pa tagged me with the duty of finding some land with good graze and good water we can settle before everything changes. He figures to sell off what we have back home to set a stake out yonder.

Standing, cup in hand, the sheriff motioned to the door. Let’s set out front a bit. Don’t like to smoke in here; gets all stale smelling. Rising, Adam led the way, Rankin’s eyes widening at noting Pike’s knife and holder fixed to his belt behind the boy’s back. ‘Built like a bull, two six shooters and a knife?’, he thought, a cold chill taking his spine. As Pike took a bench seat where he could look both down the street and along the building wall, the tall lawman nodded appreciatively at his finding the one spot with best views of all happening and moving gracefully, almost catlike, while doing.

Taking a short cigar from a vest pocket, the lawman lit it before talking. Y’know, son, folks here ‘bouts thought of Vance kinda’ as dangerous. He is... pausing to correct himself, continued, …was said to be faster than any in the county at getting his hogleg out for shootin’.

Adam raised one brow at the man. No disrespect, sheriff, but it must be a might small county.

Eh? the man grunted.

Well, sir, by that I mean, that fellow there gesturing with his cup at the shack, if he couldn’t get flaming any faster than that back home he’d be told to leave it behind or been buried years ago.

The lawman’s eyes narrowed grimly. You have a lot of that going on where you’re from?

No, sir! Adam laughed. Mostly we have a few bullies who talk too much until real folks come ‘round, then they quick get quiet. Getting serious, his brows furrowed, Adam added, I don’t recall but one time hearing of a man being shot in a fight or such in all my years.

So you’ve never shot a man before? Rankin said flatly.

Adam looked up, stunned. Never! Fact is, sheriff, I was always the one to stay out of fights and such. The other brothers, well, they tussled some but altogether we’re considered a right peaceful clan. We tend to our own and if none push us, we push none ourselves.

Of course he added ruefully, we’re not known for taking much pushing or for being easy to handle once trouble is brought us.

Thought the sheriff, ‘I bet not’, thinking over what he wanted to say. Deciding a direct course would work best, he commented, For not doing before, you don’t seem so bothered by killing a man.

Adam stared, ice flowing over bright, blue eyes. Sheriff, I never shot a man but I shot a lot of varmints. Badgers, weasels. Critters stronger than others and always wanting to take for themselves what others work for.

Tilting his head to the saloon, he went on. That feller was just like them; a bully never learning there’s always one bigger, stronger or faster coming down the trail. While not happy to have killed, I’m not unhappy to have him be the one. Eyes widening a mite, Pike was surprised at the harshness in his voice, knowing while speaking how true the words were to him.

Breezes kicked up from the east swirling up a dust devil in the alley between buildings across the road as the few puddles left by rain the prior evening rippled out of their holes in the street. Squinting against the sun, the sheriff sat silently, a hard knot in him tied by the youngster’s tone. Someone, maybe a lot of someones, would suffer for trying to brace this boy before folks learned he’s best left alone.

Let me ask, Pike, just from curiosity and not any right to know. he said calmly.

Adam laughed, bubbles popping in the cup he’d raised to his lips. Sure, Sheriff. Not that I’m so used to anyone being interested in my doings.

Reckon not the lawman said, and, as a rule, western folks don’t ask a lot of questions. We pretty much figure a man is entitled to being what he is without any prying. But I will say I’ve not seen a pair of guns holstered as you wear them. Mind telling me how you come to have them?

Pike studied the town before answering. Nothing in that tale should alarm the law, he decided, and might do him some good. Don’t mind at all. he said, finally.

Coming across, I rode the ferry over the Mississippi working for the ferryman a few days to pay my way and save what cash was sent with me. Tied at the rail before him Molly pawed the ground, her blonde tail swishing as if to remind Adam she’d not been fed and wasn’t much used to being patient in such matters so important.

Stopped in a town east of here a couple of days past for eating. Needed supplies for cooking as I’m not much a hand at doing, so went in a place, not too much unlike that one pointing across again, but a mite cleaner. Adam wrinkled his nose at the recollection. Fellow there was playing with a deck of cards, just shuffling and such while sipping on some whiskey. He invited me to play when I walked in but I had no such idea, just wanting to eat and head out.

As I ate, he kept fussing with those cards and seemed mighty clumsy at it. Thought at first he was shamming me. Rankin looked at him puzzled. You know, faking it so I’d be suckered into playing. The sheriff nodded as Pike continued. But the more I eyed him, the more I started thinking two things. One, he was drunker than seemed at first and, two, he really wasn’t much skilled at cards. I’m no card sharp, sheriff, believe me, but had some learning mostly from other brother Mitchell and know a bit what to look for and how to handle myself a little around the table. So I decided to play a hand; knew if he was good, I could fold up and leave anytime.

Adam laughed. He wasn’t, Sheriff, not a lick or maybe he was just too drunk to make his cards jump but everything he tried got bollixed. The more he lost, the more agitated he got and more agitated he got, the more he drank. Of course, the more he drank, the worse he played. Took a couple of hours but by then he was busted without a dime left to flip.

From the corner of his eye, Rankin studied Adam while seeming to watch the street. You don’t mind taking from a drunk man? he asked casually.

Didn’t make him drink, sheriff, and didn’t make him play cards. Man makes decisions; he takes consequences. Adam answered, disinterestedly. Not in me to fool a man or lure him to a bad spot but if one, like this fellow, puts himself there, I see no reason to walk away.

Rankin nodded, knowing many that felt that way tho’ did not himself.

After the last hand, the fellow is all roused up. Yells at me, demands one more hand but I point out, reasonably, he’s got nothing left to bet. ‘I got these’, he says, slapping palms on these guns. ‘Hand tooled leather holsters made just for me with two brand new, fine six shooters. I’ll put them against all you got on the table.’, he hollers at me.

Pike broke to retrieve the coffee and refill their cups, wanting Rankin to see the picture drawn. Sitting back on the bench, he added, And I mean he was bellowing, Sheriff, just as loud as he could. Not a fellow sewn together very tightly, I’m thinking.

Rankin laughed through a cloud of blue smoke at the image. A gambler with straw poking out at every seam, he imagined, giving away his last coin through bad card play.

Well, in my mind, everything on the table started out his anyway, so I have nothing to lose. Adam explained. I know he’s going to try some trickery but, if he does, the worst of it is I walk away and if he’s no better at that than he’d been all day, I get a nice pair of pistols added to his cash.

Adam chortled immodestly. A bunch of others were sitting around by now but I let them know the gambler fellow was busted and I wasn’t playing if they sat in so they just watched, drank and made fun of us both, I reckon. The gambler, he goes to shuffling and dealing and I see he’s trying to stack the deck, setting for a bottom deal, but messed up. I let him go and, truth be spoken, the cards dealt himself are terrible and I’ve gotten most of the ones he thought to have.

Back home, Sheriff, this gent would’ve been run out of town but they’d have stripped him of everything he owned first and laughed him to a death by blushing, I swear. When we turn up cards, I’m sporting a full-house, kings and fives, and he’s got a pitiful pair of threes.

Laughter broke from Pike, remembering the look of terror on the gamblers face. Regaining his composure, he concluded. By now he’s beside himself. Face red, veins bulging, just fit to be tied. He screams something like ‘You can’t’ and before he’s done, I took the edge of that heavy wood table we’re at and tipped it straight into his mid-section, driving it and him to the floor. His chair shattered with a bang and he shrieked like some graveyard banshee.

Mind you, I’m not hunting trouble Adam said, looking at the lawman keenly, just keeping the agreement made. While he’s pinned under the table, I helped in that, I admit, I unbuckled these holsters and slipped them over my shoulder, circled around picking up spilled money off the floor and waved our audience so long. Those boys were so busy laughing and sweeping up a few coins I missed, they scarcely noticed me leaving.

Next thing was arriving here and that ruckus across the way. Pike paused, an enlightened look crossing his face. Maybe, Sheriff, I just need to stop eating. Rankin looked at him, confused. I mean, each time trouble finds me, it’s in an eating place. If I stop eating he said laughing deeply, maybe I’ll not have any more trouble.

Standing, Adam stretched, not much used to much sitting and less used to so much talk. Easing over, he gave Molly an affectionate rub on her muzzle.

This here’s Molly, Sheriff. he said, Raised her, me and my Sis did from a newborn. Taught her a bunch of tricks, some useful but mostly just for show. She’s no thoroughbred but has better strength than many, more stamina than most and one of the smartest horses I’ve ever seen.

She’s a good looking horse, son.

Pike laughed. Now don’t start yarning on us, Sheriff. She’s not a beauty but she’s alright.

Molly tossed her blonde mane and stamped a hoof, insisting she certainly was a beauty and to remind again she’d had no dinner and was of no interest in being kept waiting longer. I reckon it’s time to get her some feed.

Rankin stood, inhaling then blowing smoke. Leaning against the squared upright, he glanced the boy over, Pike’s rifle and shotgun in scabbards on the horse building out a picture mostly drawn and felt something needed doing he wasn’t knowing how to do. A lawman for two decades, he’d developed a sense about folks and every instinct in him screamed this youngster would prove to be a handful down the road, maybe if he made a bad turn a handful for some sheriff or marshal. From Chicago first then up to St. Paul and now in this quiet, little, nowhere town, he’d seen a lot of young men become outlaws for no reason but bad luck or just lacking someone to give guidance.

Mind a suggestion before you go, Adam? he asked, knowing this one wouldn’t take to anyone telling him what to do.

Not at all. I was raised respectful of the law and of my elders. Pa wouldn’t have it another way. I’d be pleased to listen. The sheriff twisted a tight smile. Listening wasn’t same as doing by any stretch so he measured his words before speaking.

Them guns you wear. They’re a mite unusual, as I said. There’ll be men west of here who will see them, and you, as a challenge, thinking that one so young can’t be capable.

I’m not so young, passed my fifteenth as I have, Adam protested, and take care of myself.

I know that, Pike, but men yonder won’t. If you’re wishing for no unnecessary trouble as said he added, tossing a quick, stern look the boy’s way, you’ll understand age is going to work against you sometimes. Older men will expect to take advantage and all of a sudden you’ll have more shooting fights than you want.

Pike nodded, absentmindedly scratching Molly behind the ears as Rankin went on, puffing at his cigar. Out here a man has to wear a gun. Rattlers are common as are Indians. Your horse may break a leg or toss and drag you. Adam smiled picturing mild-mannered Molly throwing him but knew it could happen. You’ll be well served to stow that double holster unless expecting difficulty and wear a regular pistol otherwise.

Adam glanced to the ground knowing good advice when he heard it. Makes sense, Sheriff, truly does. I’ve a single gun and holster in my bags sent with me from home. I’ll take to wearing that mostly.

"Glad to hear it, son. In years coming, ‘specially once the War ends, we’ll be seeing a lot of men on the prod, a lot