Hank of Twin Rivers, Book Three: Riding with the Wranglers

By M. C. Arvanitis

When his father enrolls seventeen -year-old Hank Heaton in an eastern school where he can prepare to be a doctor, Hank instead joins up with Hoss Smith and his horse wranglers who are driving a herd of wild mustangs to Fort Worth, Texas, along the Chisholm Trail. Hank has another reason to get to Texas. Missouri is next to Texas and that is where his sweetheart, Becca Twiddle, now lives. Just after Hank left Twin Rivers, Becca's father had moved the Twiddle family from Twin Rivers to Wilson Creek. Hank plans to find Becca and take her back to Twin Rivers but life interferes. Dangers on the Chisholm Trail and a lone trip through the Ozarks infested with bear and guerilla desperadoes take more time than he thought it would. When he finally arrives in Wilson Creek the territory is engulfed in a battle between the Union and Confederate armies.
Historically correct, this third novel of the series, “Hank of Twin Rivers," takes readers into the exciting life of horse wranglers and battles of the Civil War.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M. C. Arvanitis
• Release date: May 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9780988982130

M. C. Arvanitis

M. C. Arvanitis resides in Freemont, Nebraska. She has a degree in Early Childhood Education. She taught preschool and early elementary for over thirty years until her retirement two years ago. She now spends her time writing elementary chapter books and Young Adult novels. Her short stories have been published in Skipping Stones Magazine, Totline Teaching Tales (Warren Publishing Co.), and Building Blocks for Bright Beginnings.

Book preview

Hank of Twin Rivers

Book Three: Riding with the Wranglers

by

M. C. Arvanitis

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All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form without permission of the author,

M. C. Arvanitis.

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Copyright 2016 M. C. Arvanitis

Smashwords Edition

ISBN 978-0-9889821-3-0

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License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Dedication

I dedicate this book to my dear friend, Karleene Morrow, author of her own novel, Destinies. She took the time to critique each chapter of the Hank series. Unfortunately her life ended before this book could be published.

Acknowledgements

Thanks to my beta reader, Helen Worthington; to Dori Murnieks, cover artist; to Sunshine Keck, Consultant; and to the Oregon Coast Writers Focus Group for their wise and timely critiques. I also give sincere thanks to my loving family who support my writing career.

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Hank of Twin Rivers

Book Three: Riding with the Wranglers

by

M. C. Arvanitis

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Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1: The Kickapoo

Chapter 2: Finding Lucifer

Chapter 3: On the Lonesome Prairie

Chapter 4: Abilene

Chapter 5: The Fight

Chapter 6: On the Chisholm Trail

Chapter 7: Comanche Country

Chapter 8: Paulie Joins the Wranglers

Chapter 9: Hank Unveils His Plan

Chapter 10: Christmas in Fort Worth

Chapter 11: Breaking Lucifer

Chapter 12: Trouble in the Woods

Chapter 13: Trader Sam

Chapter 14: The Ozark Witch

Chapter 15: The Bloody Bill Gang

Chapter 16: Hank Meets an Old Friend

Chapter 17: The Battle of Wilson Creek

Chapter 18: Hank Finds Becca

Chapter 19: Flying Trip to St. Louis

Chapter 20: Fancy Duds

Chapter 21: Steamboat Town

Chapter 22: On the Golden Eagle

Chapter 23: Sand Bars and Snags

Chapter 24: Trouble in the City of Kansas

Chapter 25: Back in Twin Rivers

Chapter 26: Welcome Home Party

Chapter 27: An Old Friend Returns

Chapter 28: When the Boy Becomes a Man

Meet the Author

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Prologue

When his father enrolls seventeen-year-old Hank Heaton in an eastern school where he can prepare to be a doctor, Hank instead joins up with horse wranglers on their way to western Nebraska in search of wild mustangs. Hank claims and breaks his horse, Lady. He returns to Twin Rivers but finds Becca Twiddle, his sweetheart, has been taken to Missouri by her father. Hank decides to hire on with the wranglers who will drive the herd to Texas and sell the horses to the US Army. After the trail drive, Hank plans to head for Missouri to find Becca.

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Chapter 1

The Kickapoo

Hank hesitated, watching for movement, before he reached in the knee-high prairie grass for the dried disk of buffalo dung that trail cook, Jeb, used to feed the wranglers' campfires. His biggest fear in life was snakes, which were plentiful in the Nebraska prairie. This time he lucked out. No snakes slid across his path.

He wondered if he would ever come to an age when he didn’t have that chore. He’d started picking up the distasteful dried manure when he, Uncle Mac and Pa came across Nebraska on the Oregon Trail after his mother had died of cholera. He was twelve then, shorter, kind of puny as Pa said in one of his put-down statements. Hank hated that he never looked his age. He’d always thought that Pa was disappointed in him.

Now, at seventeen, he was just getting his growth. Although he knew he would never be as tall and muscular as Pa, he was taller than Uncle Mac. He even could feel a bit of hair sprouting from his chin. Of course it was reddish blonde like the hair on his head and didn’t show much.

Hank hadn’t regretted joining the wranglers. It was better than being stuck in a city wearing a doctor’s white coat. At the insistence of his new wife, Pa had planned to send him to a boarding school back east in Philadelphia to prepare for a career in medicine, but doctoring was not in Hank’s plans for himself.

Last summer when Hoss Smith and his wranglers came through Twin Rivers heading to western Nebraska, Hank had run away to join them. Hoss let him claim one of the wild horses for his own and with the help of the wranglers Hank had tamed and broken Lady. When they had returned to Twin Rivers, Hoss, amazed at how good Hank was at breaking horses, had asked Pa if Hank could help drive the captured wild mustangs to Fort Worth, Texas, where Hoss planned to sell them to the US Army. To Hank's surprise, Pa had agreed. Now here he was, working with the wranglers.

Hank stood, tossed the chip in the gunnysack hooked to the saddle horn, stretched, and mounted Lady. Time to get back to camp, girl. I’m so hungry my ribs are fighting each other. Can’t wait to dig into Jeb’s rabbit stew. I’ll bet he saved you a carrot. Lady snorted in agreement. With a touch of his knee, Hank signaled her to canter toward the wrangler’s camp. The filly and the rider were so much in tune with each other that Lady responded to his leg movements.

They had been on the trail for several days with Trail boss Hoss riding his black stallion and leading the herd of sixty wild mustangs. He dressed in a flash of color, wearing a wide-brimmed sombrero, brown, yellow, and orange-striped poncho, and a bandolier wrapped across his massive chest. Leather chaps protected his long legs from brush and thorns. The late day sun reflected light from his huge spurs with spiked rowels that fitted on his leather boots.

Jeb, the cook, drove the mule-powered chuck wagon behind him. A second mule was tethered behind the wagon, its back loaded with supplies. Jeb, with his grey stubble of a beard and huge nose that spread across his wrinkled face, reminded Hank of a raccoon. His habit of chewing tobacco had left his teeth yellowed. He could spit out a long spurt of tobacco juice, hitting a bumblebee feeding on a sunflower.

Johnny and Zeke, the most experienced wranglers, rode near the front of the herd at the right and left points keeping the horses moving in the right direction. Zeke was second in command after Hoss because of his many years of experience in driving horses and cattle. Hank thought he had to be near seventy according to his sun-wrinkled skin and age-spotted baldhead, but you couldn’t tell by his actions. He had no trouble keeping up with the others.

Johnny, well known throughout the territory as Kid Kelly, was a good friend of Hank’s Uncle Mac. He stood out among the men. Well built, with sun-tanned skin, he sat tall on his horse.

Behind them guarding the middle of the herd came the swing point riders. Carlos, a middle-aged Mexican from across the border, rode on the left. His sombrero fitted low on his head. He sat easily on his horse, strumming his guitar, directing the herd with Spanish songs. He spoke very little English.

Jack, a young man in his twenties rode on the right point position. No one knew his last name or where he came from and he never mentioned either one. His straggly uncut hair and beard hid his face. Hank had never seen him smile. The only interaction Jack had with the others was when he joined in with Carlos on his mouth harp when the wranglers sat around the campfire singing sad cowboy songs. Hank thought he might be on the run but if so, none of the others ever talked about it.

Earl, Zeke’s younger brother, rode the right flank with Amos, who rode the left flank point. Amos, the oldest of the group, often talked about his time as a scout and veterinarian with the Black Calvary troops in Texas during the Mexican-American War back in the eighteen forties.

Rod and Ron Wagner, two brothers, had joined them when they rode through Fort Kearny. The youngest of the crew, except for Hank, Hoss had put them to work at the drag position, eating the dust that the horses stirred up. Only one year apart, they were identical in looks and full of vinegar. They claimed to be nineteen and twenty but Hank suspected they were younger. Still wet behind the ears, Johnny had remarked when he saw them.

They spent their time bullying Hank. He tried to keep the peace; not that he was scared, but he knew he’d have to tangle with the two of them. He figured they wouldn’t let up on him until they provoked him into a fight.

Being the youngest wrangler, Hank was in charge of the extra mounts referred to as the remuda. Each wrangler owned two horses so they could rest one while riding the other. When Hank wasn’t riding he worked as the cook's helper.

Hank had another reason for going with the wranglers. Missouri wasn’t far from Texas and Missouri was where he hoped to find Becca Twiddle and bring her back to Twin Rivers. Her family had been the first to settle near the trading post and Hank and she had become best friends despite her father’s displeasure. When Preacher Twiddle moved his family including Becca back to Wilson Creek, Hank’s heart had been broken. He daydreamed about her as he worked, remembering her long reddish orange hair, which she wore in pigtails, and her brown eyes that twinkled when she laughed. As soon as they got to Texas he would head to Missouri to find her.

A distant movement interrupted his thoughts. A figure walked toward him then disappeared behind a small hill. He squinted his eyes to see against the setting sun. Again the figure appeared over the rise. As it came closer he saw the figure was an Indian wearing breechcloth and leggings. A headband kept his long gray hair close to his head. He walked barefoot with a heel and toe motion. As far as Hank could see he was alone. They had been on the trail for weeks and there had been no hint of Indian trouble but Hank thought he had better warn the others. He urged Lady into a gallop and raced to the camp where the wranglers sat around the campfire.

Indian coming, he shouted as he pulled Lady to a sliding stop and dismounted.

An Indian, you say? Hoss smoothed his full drooping moustache as he watched the man approaching. An old codger. He looks ta be harmless enough.

Zeke squinted at the oncoming figure. Looks like a Kickapoo. He’s out of his territory, though. The Kickapoo live east by the Missouri River; anyway they used to when I lived down that way.

The old man walked into the camp with his hands out showing no weapons. Aho. A greeting rolled from his mouth, sounding almost like a whistle.

Aho, Father. Hoss, using the respectful word for an old brave, held his hand up palm out. We welcome you to our camp.

The Indian, touched his chest and said in a singsong voice, Niisw Nehkaaci.

Hoss looked around. Anyone here speak Kickapoo?

Zeke nodded, I can understand a bit. He says his name is Two Foot.

The Kickapoo touched his eyes and waved toward the southwest. Neemwa Miisikwaaha. He pulled his bow from his shoulder and motioned to his stomach. Niisw tepehkiiha. Zeke continued to translate as the Kickapoo spoke. "He says he saw buffalo. He hasn’t eaten for two suns and