Charley and the Last Cavaliers

By J F Harden Jr

They were five young men, all still in their teens and all from the same community. Schooled together they had remained close friends after finishing the eighth grade. These last few years theyd worked, each helping on their own families farms. Now with their younger brothers and sisters old enough to take over, they could leave. Their parents and others relatives would have all the help they needed.
For years they had banded together as adventurous youths and now they talked of more exciting things to do and places to see. Though they were warned about how tough the times were and there was little work, except for seasonal farm labor, they were not deterred. They had heard the new courthouse being built in St. Louis. Though it was some distance away and place where they had never been, they felt sure a city with that large a building project would surly need many workers.
Their families though reluctant to see them leave did help them gather the things they would need. They knew these were determined young men, anxious to look for that something they felt in their hearts was out there, waiting just for them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Apr 26, 2011
• ISBN: 9781426946783

J F Harden Jr

Born in San Francisco in 1925 a fourth generation Californian on his mothers side. Raised in Marin County he roamed the hills and the flats of the bay in sight of San Quentin. A veteran of both Maritime Service and the Army. Serving time over seas in both Australia aboard the M.V. Cape San Antonio, Later in the War in the Philippines in the Hawaiian Division. The 28th Division, 34th Regiment, A company, 1st Platoon 1st Squad and for a time 1st Scout. HeCountyd four children working for Ma Bell 31 years and seven months in Marin and Santa Clara county. Hunted and fished from Lake Thomas Edison to the Oregon boarded in the Sierras and from Los Padres National Forest to the Trinity Alps in the coast range, burro packing with his sons. Spent seven years as a Boy Scout Leader and as an Honorary Life member of the PTA. Has lived in Riverton Wyn, Sequim Wash. And rebuilt a cabin in Klawock Alaska on Prince of Wales island, where he hunted, fished and wrote in his spare moments. He has 9 grand children, 10 great grand children plus a loved step daughter and daughter in law and two step grand children.

Book preview

Contents

PREFACE

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

AUTHOR BIO

PREFACE

They were two young men, both still in their teens and both from the same community. Schooled together, they had remained close friends after finishing the eighth grade. These last few years they’d worked, each helping on their own families farms. Now with their younger brothers and sisters old enough to take over, they could leave. Their parents and other relatives would have all the help they needed.

For years they had joined together as adventurous youths, now they talked of more exciting things to do, and places to see. Though they were warned about how tough the times were, and that there was little work, except for seasonal farm labor, they were not deterred. They had heard of the new courthouse being built in St. Louis. Though it was some distance away, and was a place they had never been, they felt sure a city with that large a building project would surely need many workers.

Their families, though reluctant to see them leave, did help them gather the things they would need. They knew these were determined young men anxious to look for that something they felt in their hearts was out there, waiting just for them.

They would ride west to St. Louis and end up farther west then either would have ever anticipated.

CHAPTER I

They stopped at the courthouse that was being built to ask about work. Obvious by their dress that they were fresh off the farm, they were told there were no jobs for unskilled labor. The man there did tell them they could probably find work, cutting firewood, along the river. Just follow the river; you’re sure to find some wood hawk that needs help.

The trees close to the town were pretty well depleted. They would have to travel down river some distance before there would be enough trees left to support a wood- cutting operation. Too late in the day to travel much farther, they found a decent spot to spend the night, stopped, and made their camp.

A small fire was made from sticks they gathered. Biscuits and bacon bought in St. Louis would be their supper; they talked about what they knew they were in for. Farm boys with no real skills, it was going to be a rough road ahead for sure. But they assured each other they’d do it. They were used to hard work, and chopping wood wouldn’t be something new. Watching the river as their fire burned down, they enjoyed a peaceful night. Morning, and it was more biscuits and bacon, and Tom telling Fran that this diet could get old quick.

Riding south and parallel to the river, they had only ridden for a mile or so before coming onto trees. Here they found a new camp being set up. A grizzled older man by what was surely a cook tent, and dining room told them that, yes, it was a woodcutter camp.

Invited for coffee, they were told there might be jobs here, but he was just the cook and straw boss. I’m Charlie Teasdale; the boss is Ed Burke. He’s down on the beach with the cordwood waiting for the boat. You finish your coffee, and we’ll go down and check, he told them.

My partner is Tom Thorne, and I’m Fran Leon, Fran told Charley, we’d sure appreciate it. Could use some work could you? Charley asked. We could," Fran answered.

Down near the edge of the river they found Ed Burke sitting on the wagon tongue, his horse grazing nearby. Introduced to him by Charley, he said, yes, he could use more hands. Tell them what’s expected of them, Charley, and what their cut will be, then get them to work." He shook their hands, a man with large soft hands and sweaty palms. A big man yet fairly portly, that and his weak handshake might well obscure the fact that here was a big powerful man that could be difficult to reckon with.

Someone, who was surely enjoying his life, but did over indulging in the very things that would eventually put him down. But for right now Fran knew he would have to respect the man for what he was, but something told him to be wary.

Charley told them they would get a share of what each cord of wood sold for, the same as the others. Ed owns the camp, and buys the supplies. I take care of the cooking; plus, the wagon and team we use to haul with, belongs to me.

Out in the woodlot to where the others were working, and Charlie introduced them to Bob Pine, Andy Bender, and Hank Pilcher. The axes, and saws were there, and they put their horses out on pickets and went to work. It would take them just a short time to fall into the rhythm of how things worked. They took turns on the saws, axes, loading the wagon, and then stacking the wood in cords on the beach. It was hard work but the kind of labor most farm boys were used to.

Charley prepared good meals, and in the evenings at their table would tell them stories about the years past, when he trapped. It was a good life he told them, but it was really only for younger men. Those young fellows who could suffer through the cold winters in the mountains, plus work in the ice-cold water with his traps.

The young men were always anxious to hear his tales about the Indians. And of course; he’d tell them about some close calls he’d had. But he made it clear that the Indians, for the most part, weren’t all that bad. But there was a bad apple now and then, but no more then with any other folks. Course it’s a might different when you rile one of them. You know killing someone who’s not from their tribe could get him a feather for his bonnet, not a noose for his neck."

Charley liked his Sundays off, telling them the Lord wanted them to respect that day. Most Sundays they did take the time to do some hunting, fishing, or working with their own horses. But some times Ed wouldn’t leave for the weekend. He’d stay and drink at his personal tent, and insist they get more wood down onto the beach.

Depleting the trees in one area would require them to move, always to where there were more trees, and a suitable beach. Again they would stack the cordage they cut, and the boats would come in to pick up this fuel they needed. Moving meant there would be no wood to cut for a day or two, consequently nothing earned during those days. Sometimes they’d even have to grade a wagon road to the beach, requiring more labor without pay. This they understood was necessary, something that had to be done. The wood couldn’t sell, if it wasn’t where the boats could get it.

There were something’s that bothered them; one was there always seemed to be a discrepancy between the numbers of cords they cut and the number they were paid for. Bob Pine always kept a notched stick tally for the cords they’d cut. But Ed paid them according to what he said was his count.

Getting together they decided they’d ask Ed about the difference in the count. After supper, Bob told Ed that there always seemed to be a difference between their tally, and the count they were being paid for.

Ed’s face already florid from whatever he’d been drinking turned livid. Standing up he reached across the table, but Bob was to fast. I’ll break your neck you damn little runt, Ed shouted, accusing me of something like that.

He didn’t accuse you, Fran said, he was just asking.

And you, I knew you were trouble when you came begging for a job, Ed said, pointing his finger at Fran. I didn’t beg you for nothing, Fran answered. Hold everything right there, Charley said. Let’s just back off this thing for now, tomorrow I’ll start keeping count. Arguing is just going to conjure up a lot of hard feelings.

Ed stood up kicking his chair out of the way, his face now purple with rage, and stalked out of the cook tent.

He might fire all of us, Andy said. I don’t think so, Charley answered, he knows we could start selling wood tomorrow anyplace along the river.

How about his contacts? Andy asked.

Those boats might contract for a low price, but that’s it, Charley told them. When they need wood for them boilers, they ain’t particular whose wood they burn.

Ed’s becoming so belligerent because of Bob’s question didn’t set too well with any of the young men, but they all felt with Charley taking the reins, things should work out all right.

They were putting money away, more from not being able to get to town then from being paid a lot. But now and then they did buy some things from of the roustabouts or crewmen off the steamboats. Most of them wanting to buy the newer percussion rifles and pistols. Their old flintlocks so unreliable in wet weather, and pistols, now with five or six shots, though maybe not as accurate as some singles, were much preferred.

Whiskey was always available from the boats, but Charley kept them in line, and they could also see what liquor was doing to Ed. He was getting worse now, staying in his tent for days some times or going into St. Louis and not coming back for a week.

Charley always made sure Ed paid their shares when he came back to camp. Once, Charley said that Ed couldn’t be drinking all his money up, he’s got to be gambling or chasing or maybe both.

They worked every day but Sundays. But then Ed taking on more work was making it difficult, yet Charley wanted them to have their Sundays off.

Sundays someone usually wanted to go hunting or fishing, then maybe if they were lucky, there would be a brief respite from their regular fare of biscuits, gravy, hominy grits, beans or cornmeal fixed one way or another.

Some Sundays they even tried some target shooting. Sharpening their eye, they told Charley. They did do some betting but soon quit that, when Fran kept winning all the money. For some reason, he had that little extra that made him hard to beat.

More cords of wood, and those steamboats seemed to keep the beach cleared no matter how much they cut and stacked. Money was coming in, but Charley told them they would never be rich. They were working hard, but they were enjoying themselves too, because right then they were having no real problems.

Then Ed came back to camp, and spent two days alone in his own tent before going down to take care of the beach. Four days he collected the money as the boats hauled away the cords of wood. On the fifth morning he was starting to town when Charley asked him, where he was heading?

If I thought it was any of your business, old man, Ed told him, I’d tell you.

Are you going to pay the boys their cut? Charley asked.

I’ll settle later, Ed, answered.

You said you’d pay when the money came in, Ed, Charley said. That’s what you agreed to. Now you do what you promised.

I’m going to give you something I should have given you a long time ago, Charley, Ed said, as he started forward.

Fran stepped in front of Charley. Stopping, Ed said, You want what I’m going to give him, kid?

Is that a challenge? Fran asked.

You damn right, Ed answered.

Then it’s my choice of weapons, Fran answered. You’ve got a pistol on your hip, Ed. Use it, and we’ll settle this now.

Ed grew pale; he’d seen what Fran could do with that pistol, and knew he’d be no match for him. He turned, got up on his buggy, and whipped his horse into a gallop, heading into town.

Thanks, Charley said, that could have gotten serious.

I was pretty sure he wouldn’t try anything, Fran said. He’s the kind that needs all the advantages. But, I guess I’ve crossed that line, Charley. I’ll pack my gear and move on.

Not yet, Charley answered. Let’s just see what happens.

The rest of the crew was there now, and they mulled it over, and came to the same conclusion as Charley.

Everyone went back to work; there was a boat on the beach. They’d picked up what was there, and said they’d come back later for more.

They worked for a week with no sign of Ed. He had a pretty good pocket full of jingle, Charley told them at breakfast, probably having himself a real good time.

They were barely into their work when they heard the steam whistle on the boat coming in—one loud earsplitting blast after another. They headed to the beach wondering what all the noise was about.

On the beach, the roustabouts were running, taking the wood aboard. Got to get going, one of them said. We want to go hear more about the gold strike in California. They helped the crew load the wood. Charley collected the money, and they walked up to the cook tent to talk.

If it’s big, Charley said, there’s going to be thousands of people heading out there. Everyone wants to be a millionaire.

Me, for one, Hank said. Let’s go. They talked about it for a while, and the young men all agreed it would be up to Charley. He was the one who’d been out that way. If he would lead them, they’d pack up and go.

I can get us into the Rocky Mountains, Charley told them, but beyond there, I just don’t know.

We can find the trail; there’s been others who’ve gone there. There’s sure to be marks on the trail we can follow, Hank said, all excited. They all knew he, for one, was surely ready to go.

It was Charley who knew the rigors of that trail, and the pitfalls. That’s why he was where he was now. But, buoyed by these young men, he knew they were the strength that could get them through.

He listened to them for a while and then said, All right, we go. But there’s things that have to be done; we need things for the trail that we don’t have now.

They worked on the list of things they would need to make such an arduous journey. With their list, Charley said he’d go in and purchase the items except the horses; those they’d trade for after they reached Independence. I’m going to try to find Ed and give him his share of what we’ve collected, Charley said. Why? Hank asked. He didn’t.

I’ll hold out for what he ran off with, but I’m not going to be like him. I just ain’t like that.

Better take Fran with you, then, Hank suggested.

I don’t think he’ll try anything when he’s in town, Charley told them.

You go ahead, cut and sell as much as you can until I get back. Then we’ll leave, he said, as he headed for town. They worked feverishly, trying to cut and sell all the wood they could. It was extra money they’d surely need along the way or when they reached California, plus, it would sustain them while hunting for that precious metal.

Charley was gone all the rest of that day, and they had to fend for themselves. They were worried when Charley didn’t show up that night. Morning, and Charley still wasn’t back. They were worried, but they would wait until noon before going to check.

Hank and Fran were ready to saddle their horses when Charley came rolling in. Hardly anything on the wagon, and they thought that maybe something had happened, and he was canceling out. When they asked if everything was still all right, he said, that everything was fine, but he did change things a bit.

Tomorrow we ride into town and deliver the wagon to its new owner, Charley said. Then we ride for Independence. Without the wagon, our trail time will be cut in half. "I shipped everything ahead; the only thing we’re short of is horses,