The Journey West

By Stephen C. Montgomery

This saga begins in 1858 during William Red Montgomerie's third trip out West. He is a 22 year old adventurous young man. At 6'1-- 220 pounds of work hardened muscle, broad shoulders, with a swagger in his walk he was quite a sight to see. With his Bowie knife and Indian war hatchet hanging on the left side of his money belt and a new model 1858 .44 caliber Remington six shot revolver on the right side, cross draw fashion, he had the look of one to ride the river with. His Uncle Jake, being a mountain man, had taught him many lessons of self-defense. The Indians were in awe of his long flaming red hair and were impressed with his superb knowledge of Indian sign language. He was in tune with his surroundings, whether in the Rocky Mountains or out in the open expanses of the Great Plains. The challenging task to lead his family and friends from Cleveland, Tennessee to a beautiful and lush valley in the New Mexico Territory was filled with dangers. The 1600 mile journey would be full of hardships and tragedy, from the excitement of saloon brawls to the hangings of outlaws. Red was to lead a wagon train of 21 overland wagons, with 29 men and 23 women and their many children west to build their new homes and to put down roots in the new wide open territory. He chose to travel the northern most route of the Santa Fee trail. They faced many dangers from Horse Thieves, Outlaws, Indians, Half Breeds, adding to their daily hardships. This novel has it all....Depicting the toils and hazards faced on a wagon train in 1860 on the lawless frontier. .... This BOOK is filled with High Adventure and Romance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 19, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456719036

Stephen C. Montgomery

Stephen C. Montgomery was born in 1943 in a large southern city. He spent several of his early years on his Uncle Gilbert’s ranch in the Texas Hill Country. He enjoyed the farm and ranch life and the lure of the outdoors. There was ample time between his ranch chores, to learn to hunt and fish. One of his favorite past times was to stalk deer and turkey. Many days he would sit quietly on the Sabin Creek waiting patiently to shoot a squirrel that he could cook on an open fire near the water’s edge. He has lived in Bandera, Texas, “The Cowboy Capital of the World,” for the past 31 years. He is married to Jeanne, his wife of 45 years and they have one son Steve. As an adult he operated a placer gold mining operation for nine months in Arizona on the Hassayampa River. He panned for gold on banks of the Yukon River in Alaska, and explored numerous areas in the mountains in Colorado and New Mexico. Around the various campfires, he listened to the stories about the West and the many hardships that the early pioneers faced. Those stories helped shape this frontier saga. Stephen's ancestors were from Scotland arriving in America in 1775. They fought in the War of Independence, and in the Civil War. For a short period of time his ancestors settled in the southern town of Cleveland, Tennessee. That is why he chose Cleveland to be the “jumping off” place to start this book. With the aid of the Internet, he researched the era of the 1860s. Hopefully, his effort to make this fictional saga as historically factual and realistic as possible will help make THE JOURNEY WEST one of your favorite books.

Book preview

Contents

Forward

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

About the author

Forward

This saga begins in 1858, during Red’s third trip out West with his Uncle Jake. William (Red) Mongomerie was a young man, 22 years old. His Uncle Jake was a Mountain man, not a farmer/rancher like the rest of the Tennessee clan. Jake had gone to great lengths to teach Red the ways of survival out on the wild frontier. They had faced many dangers together. He had become an extraordinarily accurate marksman with his long rifle. His many lessons of self-defense were often learned the hard way. While living in the Rocky Mountains he had become known as a fair and accomplished trader, aided by his skillful use of the Indian sign language. He had the natural knack to be light of foot and could move like a shadow in his wild surroundings whether in the Tennessee woods, Rocky Mountains or out on the Great Plains. He was a superb horseman and at ease in the saddle. He, by nature, was a bit wary of strangers. His long flaming red hair, broad shoulders and the swagger in his walk added to his air of confidence. He was to lead his closely knit family and friends out west. The 1600 miles are filled with Danger, High Adventure and Romance.

Red was of Scottish descent, his direct ancestors were from the mountain region in Scotland. In the 1780s the Captain" of the personal body guard of the King of France was from this Montgomerie clan.

Chapter 1

As evening approached, Uncle Jake and I rode along the rim of a beautiful box canyon. The size was astounding. It appeared to be four or five miles wide and approximately eight miles long with a strong stream meandering through it. As the stream exited the box canyon it merged with another creek, originating in the mountains to the north. The box canyon opened into a very large valley with beautiful open meadows. The trees in the box canyon and valley were spectacular. Aspen, Ponderosa Pines, Blue Spruce, Piñon, and Cypress intermixed with several types of hardwoods. This was a true paradise.

The sight I saw stirred my soul. I knew at that moment, I was destined to relocate out West.

A few minutes before sundown, we spotted a crystal clear mountain spring and set up camp nearby. While I was starting the fire, Jake brought water from the spring for our coffee. The awesome view of the box canyon must’ve put us in a somber mood. As I prepared cornbread and fried bacon, Uncle Jake set on a log, leaned back against a tree, and just sat studying me. After a time he finally spoke;

Well Red, it looks like this awesome country now has you hooked. It’s in your blood.

I think you’re right Jake, do you think I can convince the rest of the Montgomerie clan as to the beauty of this here place?

He replied, I can’t see why not. You don’t realize it, but many in our clan already look to you as our up and coming leader in the making. Now that your Dad has nearly completed his design and proto type revolver for the Remington Arms Company, I bet he’d like the challenge and adventure to relocate out West.

There wasn’t much more talk that evening, I sat by the fire in deep thought. The following day we circled the rim around to the south and entered the valley about 15 miles further to the south. As we meandered through the valley, we located several additional small clear creeks that couldn’t be seen from the ridge above. We spent three days exploring the valley, and an additional few days surveying the box canyon.

Approximately one mile after we entered the beautiful box canyon, as we rode along the north rim wall, we encountered a very secluded three sided smaller box canyon. The entrance was about 200 ft. wide. It opened in to a 20 to 25 acre meadow surrounded by very impressive vertical Canyon walls that appeared like they had been carved by the hand of some ancient god. There was two strong springs bubbling out of the northwest wall. The very large trees nearby lead us to the conclusion that they were strong year round spring. This small spot looked liked it would make a very safe and defendable Ranch Headquarters.

Game was plentiful in both the large box canyon and the vast valley below. The creeks and streams had at least two types of large fish; one was some type of trout. There was more than ample lush grass throughout the area. The location of the Box Canyon was approximately 35 miles west of the Chama Pass in the New Mexico territory. The Pass was 35 to 40 miles northwest of Santa Fe. By my calculations a trip by wagon train from Cleveland, Tennessee would take at least six to seven months and cover approximately 1600 miles.

Our trading expedition was nearing an end. It was time to start our journey home; I thought it would be wise to stop off at Santa Fe, New Mexico. Uncle Jake agreed with that. It would be wise to check on the availability of supplies and livestock. I was hopeful that there would be a United States surveyor in Santa Fe, just in case I could convince the clan to relocate to this area.

We returned through the pass and headed south to Santa Fe. We gave the horses their heads and struck out, covering the last 35 miles in less than six hours. I was pleased to find that there was a surveyor and that we found him in his office. His name was Al and he assured us that he would be available upon our return.

In a mood to celebrate, Uncle Jake invited the surveyor to one of the local saloons and quickly proceeded to get him drunk, thus assuring us quick service upon our return.

While Uncle Jake and the surveyor were at the saloon, I decided to visit the downtown area. A small wagon train full of trading goods had just arrived from the south. The local Mexican merchants were lining up to make their purchases. The streets were full of farmers, ranchers, mountain men, trappers, wagon masters, trail bosses and riffraff of all kind. There was plenty of flashing eyed Mexican girls on the sidewalks taking everything in. The Mexican Vaqueros on their beautiful horses were parading around showing off trying to catch the eyes of the pretty Senoritas. I decided to visit one of the smaller saloons a half of a block off the Main Street Plaza.

To my surprise the adobe walls kept the place cool during the noon day heat. I sauntered up to the bar and ordered a beer. After bringing me my beer, the bartender insisted I try a drink called tequila. After two beers and three shots of tequila I left the saloon. To my surprise, I was staggering down the street in search of Uncle Jake. That tequila had quite a kick.

After finding Uncle Jake, he informed me that the surveyor had already gone home; but, Jake assured me we would receive special treatment if we ever had need of him. We decided to go get a hot bath and shave. Forty-five minutes later I was feeling and smelling a lot better. We found a large and prosperous looking General Store whose prices were fairly reasonable. We bought the supplies necessary for our return trip to Cleveland, Tennessee and the trade goods to sell back east.

Jake suggested we return to the large saloon, he had noticed that they served large portions of food. He said, I’m sick and tired of your cooking! I want to buy a huge steak, bowl of beans, green chilies and a big stack of Mexican tortillas.

I told Jake, That sounds awful good to me. He didn’t know that I was just as tired of my own cooking as he was.

We spent several days in Santa Fe to acquaint ourselves with the local customs and familiarize ourselves with the town. We visited with several merchants and inquired about the availability of tools and miscellaneous supplies. The owner of the livery introduced us to a local Mexican rancher by the name of Felipe Perez; he was what was referred to as a Spanish Don.

His family had lived in the area for several generations. The information he gave us was invaluable. We discussed weather patterns, rainfall and approximate dates of the spring thaw, as well as the first frost of the winter. The rain fall, (the majority came in the spring and early summer, April through early July, was approximately 18 inches). The fall rains were in late September and October. Fall rains usually amounted to approximately eight inches. The snow fall averaged one to three feet during the winter. Felipe told us that the cattle and horse market seemed to be good, with the demand exceeding the supply.

After our stay, we packed to leave Santa Fe, loaded with information and supplies. I had decided that we would take the Santa Fe Trail back to Independence, Missouri. It would be the route we would use for our return trip to the New Mexico territory, that is to say, if we could convince the ‘Montgomerie clan’ to relocate.

As we prepared to leave Jake asked, Have you decided which of the Santa Fe Trail route to take, the southern Cimarron route or northern Mountain route?

I told him that a respected Mexican Merchant had told me that the southern route had very little water for livestock. There was a higher risk of Indian attack and a deadly danger from rattlesnakes. So I thought it best to check out the northern route. The mountain route through the Raton pass had very rough and the steep terrain for the first 70 or so miles. The grades were even hard on the horses, but all in all it was the safest route for a wagon train full of men and women if we did relocate.

After leaving the mountains we encountered several late wagon trains on the Prairie during our month long return trip to Independence Missouri. To our dismay, most were ill-equipped to face the hardships they were encountering along the way. On several occasions we stopped and camped overnight with a wagon train. We sat around their campfires to listen and learn from their trail experiences.

We encountered wagon trains of various sizes. It was obvious that there were advantages and disadvantages no matter the size. It was clear that the larger wagon trains were safer from Indian attack, but one of the problems they encountered was the lack of grass for the livestock. Another problem that we observed was that regardless of the size of the wagon train, most families didn’t know one another, causing jealousy and distrust. Tensions often erupted into fights causing daily delays.

We came to the conclusion the choice of draft animals to pull a person’s wagon was of upmost importance. Horses lacked the strength, and mules had terrible dispositions. The oxen were both strong and had a good temperament. But the drawback to the use of oxen was they were much slower; they could pull a load two miles an hour, covering on average of ten to twelve miles a day.

When a group of families are thrown together to form a wagon train, they oftentimes had different types of beast of burden. As a result, the wagons traveled at different speeds. This, in turn, caused the wagon train to get strung out during the day, creating confusion, disarray and unsafe conditions, thus causing tempers to flare.

One of the most serious problems was that in most cases they had little or no knowledge of the West. Wagons full of town folk with little or no hunting and camping experiences invited hardship and disaster. Some lacked hunting skills, thus making it very hard for them to forage for game. They were forced to rely on their guides and scout. Those guys didn’t always have the knowledge that they professed to have about the western frontier.

The bad weather that could be encountered in the spring time on the plains appeared to be one of the things that the travelers basically overlooked. Shelter from the rain was very important. A person needed a place to dry off and warm-up during spring storms. The travelers told us some hair rising stories about the wet and miserable weather.

I knew that I’d need to prepare for this type of bad weather, if I was to lead my family and friends safely to the New Mexico territory. This would take some thought and careful planning.

One small wagon train we met had been attacked by Indians. They had lost some of the livestock and two of the men had been killed. They appeared disorganized and it was obvious they didn’t have enough armed men to protect their wagon train. Several of the men were armed with the old style smooth bore muskets that weren’t very accurate to say the least. Their fate looked precarious, at best. It was clear no matter what the size of the group; the trip would be a grueling and dangerous undertaking.

As we approached Independence, Missouri, from the West, we encountered all types and sizes of household items that had been discarded by those who had headed west. It was obvious that most of the men had overestimated the weight that could be pulled by their draft animals. This was another example of the pioneers headed West being ill-informed.

It was mid-September and the weather was turning cooler. We stopped and spent the night at Mr. Kelly’s Mercantile located on the outskirts of Independence, Missouri. We told Mr. Kelly (an old acquaintance of Uncle Jake’s) about our possible move out West. I asked if he would be able to restock us prior to our heading further west.

Mr. Kelly asked, When?

The middle of April 1860

I’m sure that I’ll be able to restock you in April. There’s no problem having enough supplies that time of the year.

I asked Mr. Kelly, Is it true that most of the wagon trains all leave heading West at approximately the same time in the spring?

Yep, there’ll be wagons far as the eye can see.

Would you have two or three freight wagons with teams that I could hire for three to four weeks on our return trip?

Sure, but why will you need them?

"That’s how I intend to get a jump on the other wagon trains. I’ll have you sell me three wagons loads of feed for the livestock. The 12,000 pounds of grain, corn and oat, would allow me to leave three weeks before the grass sprouts in the spring, giving us an earlier start than the rest of the pioneers heading westward. After we’ve used up the feed or the grass sprouts I’ll send your three wagons back to you.

Wow! What an idea, I’ll be ready for your bunch when they arrive.

As we left, I told Mr. Kelly Keep our plan under your hat. I don’t want word to get out.

Don’t fret Red I’ll keep a lid on it!

We decided to map out the best route back to Cleveland, Tennessee. Some of the roads were very bad. The route we chose would require four ferry river crossings, five regular river crossings and at least 15 to 20 creek or stream crossings. The crossing of the Mississippi River at St. Louis, Missouri, would be the most costly. They would charge about $7 per wagon and $.50 for each loose animal. The two Tennessee River ferry crossings would take two days, but cost less. Most of the trip from Cleveland to Independence would be on fairly good roads, winding from trading post to trading post and town to town.

As we made our way back East, Uncle Jake insisted on staying the night at McKenna’s Trading Post and Ferry Landing, on the Tennessee River. After being served a meal, McKenna brought out a bottle of corn whiskey. As usual, Uncle Jake was full of himself, boasting about our trip out West. The three other men that were staying the night took offense to his boasting and let him know in no uncertain terms. Jake continued with his tall tales, it seemed as if he wanted to press the point.

I noticed that we all had left our rifles leaning against the same wall, and it appeared that if a brawl broke out the guns wouldn’t come in to play. McKenna was sitting in front of the guns, in his rocking chair. It was unlikely anybody would attempt to retrieve their guns if a fight did break out, at least I hoped so. Jake acted as if he was unaware of the tension in the room, but I knew it was coming and I would be ready when it started.

These Mississippi boys looked like they were a tough lot. The tall lanky one suddenly jumped Uncle Jake, and before you could blink, he had cut him across the shoulder. I took the nearest one out by hitting him at the base of his neck with my left fist. He went down and out like he’d been hit by a pole axe, but the other one drew his Arkansas toothpick. I had no choice but to draw my own knife. The lessons of self-defense that Uncle Jake had taught me would now have to save my life. As the man lunged forward and stabbed, I felt fire in my hip. Turning sharply to the right, I plunged my knife to the hilt under his arm in to his rib cage. He went limp and fell to the floor. I knew at that point he was through and probably would die. Jake’s assailant laid sprawled, unconscious, on the floor and the man I had knocked out was just coming too, but still down. The fight was over. Uncle Jake saw that I had turned pale. He took a look at the dead man and knew I needed air to clear my head.

He insisted I go outside, stating Everything’s under control.

Both of our knife wounds appeared to be minor.

McKenna took control of the situation. He let things cool off. Then, he insisted everybody help clean up the room. After heated exchanges and arm twisting by McKenna, the two remaining Mississippi boys decided not to try and press charges, they knew the local Law would most likely side with us. We watched as they buried their dead partner. The burial chore took two hours. They insisted on keeping his horse, pack mule and personal belongings, including his rifle, Jake and I said nothing.

They left that night and never looked back. This wasn’t a good day. I had recovered from my light-headedness and my knife cut required only a small bandage. We didn’t trust the Mississippi boys. I thought they might try to ambush us, so we decided to layup an extra day, hoping they would grow impatient and leave the area.

The following evening, as we sat around the fire, McKenna told Jake that he owed $4 for our half of the damage done to the furniture.

Jake laughed and said, No problem, And tossed him four silver dollars.

McKinnon asked, Do you guys need a drink?

No, coffee will do fine.

A short time later we turned in. We planned on an early start the next morning. Jake and McKenna had known one another for a long time. I knew that their friendship had helped save our bacon this time.

We saddled up, loaded our two pack horses and were on our way by 30 minutes after daylight. The morning was uneventful, but we still kept an eye out for an ambush. By that afternoon Jake acted as if nothing had happened back at McKenna’s.

The last stop on our way home to Cleveland, Tennessee would be Smith’s Crossroads; we had covered the 400 + miles from Mr. Kelly’s at Independence with no more mishaps.

The Smith’s place was a large trading post with cattle pens, fenced fields and a small blacksmith shop. It was a few miles northwest of Cleveland. The ‘Montgomerie Clan’ had been trading with Mr. Smith for many a years. He was a fair merchant and a friend. Smith and his family were happy to see us, crowding all around. Naturally they wanted to know all about the trip out West.

I knew that it would take at least an hour for Jake to spin his tales. I pulled Mr. Smith to the side and told him about our possible plans to relocate out West. He was both excited for us and saddened at the possibility of losing all of our business. I asked if he would mind checking on the herd of Chianina cattle that had been for sale last winter. He said he would check it out and send word as quickly as possible.

We left Smith’s Trading Post the following afternoon and made camp along the bank of the river 12 miles north of Cleveland. We planned to be in Cleveland by noon the following day. While we sat around the camp fire, drinking our coffee Jake inquired, How’s your hip?

I responded by saying It was just a scratch, how’s your shoulder?

It’ll be healed in a week or so. After some thought he added, Maybe we shouldn’t mention our fight with the Mississippi boys.

I agree!

The next morning, after a quick breakfast and coffee, we got underway. I could feel the excitement building in both of us. It had been seven months since we left Cleveland and the family. As we meandered along the riverbank toward Cleveland, I asked Uncle Jake again, Do you think it’s possible that I can convince the ‘clan’ to undertake such a bold adventure?

Jake chuckled and said, Stop worrying! Sure you can.

I realized if ‘The Clan’ agreed to relocate it would take at least a year for us to prepare for the move. As we rode along I told Jake I wanted to go to Dad’s blacksmith shop in town first off.

Chapter 2

Dad must have seen us ride up, He burst out of the door and said, Well it’s about time you two lost birds got back from the frontier, you’ve been missed. After a bit of backslapping we went inside, to get out of the breeze. It was likely that we had a cold front coming in. As usual, Jake was in a talkative mood. After all, it had been seven months since he had seen his brother. I patiently let him spin his tales for about an hour.

After awhile Dad looked over at me and said; What’s on your mind Son? You appear deep in thought.

As if on cue, Uncle Jake stood up and said, I’ll meet y’all later at the saloon for a drink. Red I’ll take our horses down to the livery stable.

Jake’s abrupt departure perked my Dad’s interest. I told Dad about the box canyon and the beautiful valley as it spread out in to the high mountain desert. I know it’s far-fetched but I want to buy the box canyon for us. The large valley could be settled by the rest of the family. I know it will take lots of money. The more I talked the more excited I got. Finally, I stopped to take a breath and saw that Dad had a big smile on his face…….it was the first time I had seen him smile in two years. Ever since Dad had lost Mom, three years ago, he had shown little interest in the farm. He’d even lost interest in his blacksmithing. His only interest was the design of the revolver and gun repairs. He sorely missed Mom.

Dad had always been a man of few words, Well, Red, let’s talk more about this later. I have to go back East next week to meet with the Remington Arms Company people about my revolver design. We’ll talk when I return.

Then he asked, as an afterthought, How big is the box canyon and valley in acres?

I said, Dad, you’d better sit down. I’ve estimated the box canyon at approximately 40 sections and the valley at 75 plus sections of land. I figure there are 125 sections or approximately 74,000 acres. I heard Dad whistle.

He stood up and said, Well, Red, welcome back. Let’s go see Jake and have that drink.

After a couple of drinks we decided to go to Miss Sally’s boarding house. She was well known for her good cooking. Much to my delight she was serving chicken and dumplings, fresh bread and apple pie. After finishing the best home-cooked meal Jake and I had eaten in seven months, we sat back to enjoy our second cup of coffee.

Dad mentioned to me that maybe we need to keep our plans under our hats until he returned from his trip back east. He didn’t want to get the family too riled up yet. Jake and I both agreed that would be the best thing to do.

As an afterthought he said, That doesn’t mean you can’t continue with your planning.

I told Dad, While you’re away on your trip back East, I’ll go take a look see at the herd of Chianina cattle that had been for sale last winter. I explained to Uncle Jake and Dad that the Chianina breed of domesticated cattle had been around for 5000 years. They were used as beef cattle and were also trained to be draft animals. They can be trained to pull a wagon quite easily.

The cows stand a minimum of 5’6" at the withers. Can you imagine the advantage of arriving out West with a herd of cattle instead of 120 to 140 + head of oxen that would be very difficult to sell? Mr. Smith is checking on the availability of the cattle and was going to let me know if they were still for sale. Checking the out the herd would keep me busy while you are gone back east. Mr. Smith said the cattle had been located on a ranch near Dalton, Alabama.

When we got up to leave, I asked Dad, Why don’t you close up shop for the day and go with us out to the farm and spend some time with us and the boys.

Ok, I need to check on them anyway. It’s been several days since I visited the farm. I don’t have any pressing projects. Things are always a bit slow this time of the year.

When we arrived at the farm we found Douglas and Walter were stacking hay in the barn. We all pitched in to help finish the chore. My dad had neglected to tell me that my older brother Douglas had gotten married while I was gallivanting around out west. He had married his long time girl friend Beth Robinson. Douglas and Beth seem to be very happy. Douglas let me know they had moved into mom and dad’s old room.

Beth had inherited the cooking chores, but didn’t seem to mind. She was a very mature 17 year old girl and she came from good stock. It really looked like they were happy and would make a nice couple. I’d have to remember to buy them a late wedding present the next time I was in town.

Looking around, not much had changed at the farm. I realized that except for the two lower fields next to the creek and garden area, the rest of the farm was less than ideal land for farming or ranching. Dad walked over to join me.

Son, I know what you’re thinking and you’re right. I should have chosen more carefully. When I bought this place 15 years ago, all I could see was the beautiful creek that your mother fell in love with. I think I’ll ask the banker to come out next week and see what he thinks we could get for this place.

Dad decided that he was going to spread the word to neighbors, friends and family that he was going to have a welcome home party for Jake and I this Saturday. The Montgomerie clans were always looking for an excuse to have a family party and dance. We agreed he might as well butcher a calf. Dad was sure that most of the Montgomerie Clan would like to have a little extra meat.

On Saturday people started arriving by 10:00 in the morning. By three o’clock, the set time for the meal there were at least 50 people. Uncle Jake was in hog heaven, spinning his tales about our trip out West.

I was very pleased to see that the Mc Murray family had arrived. He had five beautiful daughters. Three were unmarried and it was always fun to watch my cousins following them around like puppies. After two hours of over-eating, the men started gathering around a keg of Tennessee sour mash whiskey.

As usual, they wanted to have a contest to see who would prove to be the best rifle shot. I knew who it was. I had won the last three competitions. Just for fun I bet Uncle Jake five dollars that I could out shoot him again. He insisted on betting me $10. By the time we got around to Uncle Jake’s turn, he was so drunk he couldn’t even hit the target. It was the easiest ten dollars I’d ever made.

It was really nice seeing all my cousins. I think there were 16 of them at the party. Uncle Milton had brought his fiddle, so we all danced and had a good time well into the night. A few of the younger ones, that had too much to drink, decided to stay the night and sleep it off in the hay barn.

On Sunday, Mr. Smith sent me word that the cattle were still available. Dad and I both had decided to leave on our trips Monday. Dad was going east and I was headed south to Alabama. My youngest brother, Walter, decided to make the trip with me. He was very curious as to why I wanted to go and look at that herd of cattle. As we headed out I told him I’d explain it all in a couple of weeks.

Walter asked, Why wait?

I don’t want to ruin the surprise.

Because of the distance from Cleveland to Dalton, we decided to spend one night at Taylor’s Tavern and Trading Post. I had stayed the night there on two other occasions with Dad. Their hospitality was entertaining, the food was good and the hay would be clean under our bed rolls. Taylor’s Tavern was 18 miles from Dalton. After supper we all went outside and sat around the fire that the Taylor’s usually provided for their guests. Walter sat next to me and it was clear he had something on his mind.

After a few minutes he said, What do you think about Dad?

What do you mean by that?

Douglas and I think that there may be something wrong with his health. He seems to be losing weight, and have you noticed he gets short of breath real easily.

I hope you’re wrong, but I’ve only been back for a few days and hadn’t notice the change. When Dad gets back I’ll keep a close eye on him.

Please do!

After listening to a few stories Walter and I decided to turn in. The following morning, we had biscuits and coffee, and then headed out. The cattle were on a large ranch south of Dalton. I’ll need to get directions to Bob Martin’s ranch when I reach town.

As we rode down the main street of the town of Dalton, I noticed a small Mexican Cantina off to our left. I told Walter that place is to be our first stop.

Do you think you’re old enough to handle a shot of Mexican tequila?

Well I guess we’ll have to find out!

We walked in and sat down at the bar. We were the only customers. I ordered us each a beer and a shot of tequila. The bartender set the drinks down in front of us and asked if we had just returned from the frontier. I guess he could tell that I had the look of a mountain man. Before I had a chance to respond Walter said, Red just got back from Santa Fe, New Mexico. That perked his interest, the old man told us he used to live out yonder way and most of his family still lived about 200 or so miles south of Santa Fe, in Apache Country. He’d said that he had left there in 1832 and said he might go back one day.

I asked the old Mexican if he had heard of the Mexican fella that has a shop here in town that’s known for making top quality riding boots and buckskin western clothes."

See Señor, his shop is just five blocks down the street on the left. His name is Ramon.

We each had one more shot of tequila before we left for Ramon’s. Now Walter knew what I had meant about being old enough to drink tequila. He was feeling the effects of the strong drink.

We found the boot shop. I hadn’t spent any of the money that I made while trading out west. I decided now was as good a time as any. I ordered three complete Western style outfits. The outfit would include a three quarter length buckskin duster, a leather vest and pants, a belt with a scabbard for a Bowie knife, one pair of walking boots and one pair of riding boots.

I asked Walter, Do you and Douglas still wear the same size clothes and boots?

Yep, we sure do. Walter answered.

It was clear he sensed something was in the wind, but said nothing. It took two hours for the man to measure us for our outfits and boots. The store owner told us to return in four or five weeks and