The Marshal of Denver: Legends of the Landrun, #1

By Judge Rodriguez and Alanna Rodriguez

Retired Army Sargent Major John Cardwell never imagined he would be facing matters of faith and law as the Marshal of Denver, Indian Territory after the cannons of the Great Landrun sounded. Will he be able to face the ghosts of his past to survive his upcoming ordeals?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Landrun Publishing
• Release date: Apr 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393465782

Judge Rodriguez

Judge Rodriguez was born and raised in Little Axe, Oklahoma. The son of U.S. Air Force Veterans, he followed the military legacy of his family and served his own tenure in the U.S.A.F.  Alanna Radle Rodriguez was born and raised in Edmond, Oklahoma. The great-great granddaughter of one of the first pioneers to settle in Indian Territory/Oklahoma, her roots run deep. Judge and Alanna met in a reenactment group and have a combined forty-nine years of reenactment and living history experience. They both love the history of their home state, thoroughly enjoy doing research and relish working at the 1889 Territorial Schoolhouse in Edmond. They currently live near Edmond. The Marshal of Denver is the first installment of a long line of co-authored books written together in the Legends of the Landrun Series.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The creaking of saddle leather is the oldest memory John has. It is comforting, yet disturbing. He turns in his saddle to look around at the other hopefuls. Glancing up, he checks the position of the sun. Almost noon. So many people sitting in wagons, on horses, standing, all waiting for the sound of cannons. There must be several thousand. The army had sent troops to help keep Sooners from cheating the race. Harrison’s Horse Race, some were calling it. John calls it a new start. So much has happened before, so much to look forward to.

To his left, a family of blacks, parents with two teenage children. The father looks around warily, as if afraid of those around his family, his hand resting on his Winchester. To his right, an Oriental couple, a husband and wife. The husband speaks quietly to his apparently demure wife sitting in the seat next to him. The husband is younger, has a shaved head except for a ponytail. The wife has finely chiseled features, is attractive, and alluring. They too, appear apprehensive.

Shielding his eyes against the glare, John looks toward the position of the sun once again not long now. He leans forward, looks further down the line and sees nothing but Conestoga Wagons, buckboards and, like him, single riders. He turns around and sees his co-rider.

Red-Feather Under the Full Moon. Last night around the campfire there were mutterings about a redskin being able to take part in the landrun. Only after sending him away from the fire to his bedroll was John able to convince those around him that Red-Feather was a servant, not trying to get the land for himself. Not many people believed him, but at least there weren’t any more comments about lynching.

John sees the look on Red-Feather’s face. Annoyance. They have been traveling together for more than twenty years since they were both at Fort Cobb together. Red-Feather has been a sound scout and a good friend. Their friendship had been forged in loneliness and battle. Battle against Red-Feather’s own people, the Apache, and the isolation of losing John’s best friend and blood brother, Josh.

Over the years, John has learned how to read Red-Feather’s face. In some ways, he could read the moods of his friend better than the man’s own wife and children. Yes, this look is definitely one of annoyance. I wonder what set him off this time. John motions him forward. Are you all right?

Red-Feather looks at him steadily. Past noon. Why no race?

John looks at the sky again. He was right. It was past noon, all right. Well, I guess the exact time isn’t all that important. It will be noon when those cannons fire no matter what. That is the agreed-upon time.

Red-Feather grunts, probably in disapproval of these silly white men.

Without warning, there is a rolling thunder as the cannons up and down the line fire. The race is on. People shout and scream in excitement. Red-Feather gives an ululating yell from over the thundering hooves and wagons rolling down the almost desolate plains. A horse screams in front of him just before he sees a cloud of dust. He moves to dodge it and turns in time to see the rider get trampled by other riders not able to get out of the way in time.

John knows this land. He has ridden through it in the service of the cavalry. He knows where to look. Without fail, he makes a beeline for the correct place. He guides his horse to a slightly northern direction. He and Red-Feather have been making plans since they heard about these lands being opened for settlement. Red-Feather has a number of dreams to fulfill, but needs John’s help. John guides his horse around a Conestoga that is tumbling and flying into pieces, throwing its passengers in all directions.

John slows as he rides down into a gully. Afraid he has been riding too hard, too long, he doesn’t increase his horse’s pace beyond the canter he is at now. Being a retired Sergeant Major in the cavalry, John knows how to care for his mount. He also knows how and when to push his horse beyond the breaking point. This is not the time nor the place to do that. A stupid prairie dog or jack rabbit burrow can snap a horse’s leg in the blink of an eye.

The two riders go at a steady pace. They ride for hours. The horses become lathered and the riders saddle weary. John is sure they are close to their goal. He knows exactly where they are going, but some of the scenery has changed since he was last here. The place he is thinking of is the perfect location to live out their dreams. John reaches down into his haversack and pulls out a bit of beef jerky. He sets it in his mouth to allow his saliva to moisten it enough to make it edible, only to discover a distinct lack of said moisture. The riders come to a stop long enough to drink from canteens and glance around a bit. Not more than another ten miles or so. They won’t be able to get there today, but should arrive tomorrow sometime around noon, if they make it an early enough start. They were able to get to the head of the pack early enough no one should be able to beat them there unless they are Sooners. Plus, this area was wide enough that their combined 160-acre plots were just a drop in the bucket.

They ride for so long, both riders are numb from the pounding their backsides have given their saddles. Just past the beginning of dark, they make a cold camp. They talk quietly, speaking about their hopes and dreams in the new area. Looking off to the west and northwest, they see campfires sparking up. People have already staked their claims. John shakes his head. Free land. What a joke. Man doesn’t own the land. If I haven’t learned anything in the 45 years I've been alive, it’s that man lives at the sufferance of nature. Man doesn’t own the land; the land owns its men.

After eating a small portion of their rations sparingly, the men seek their bedrolls. Excited, but not looking forward to another day in the saddle, they sleep easily with the howls and hunting sounds of the coyotes all around them. Though the landrun has scared away most of the wildlife, John expects to find whitetail deer, coons, possums, chickens, turkeys, and lots of rabbits to hunt.

Both men wake before dawn out of habit born from years of experience. They eat a cold breakfast of old fry bread and dried mutton bites before making way again. They start out slowly in the gray of false dawn. In the distance, John sees a few does with their fawns moving through the grasslands. He points them out to Red-Feather, who nods in appreciation.

They ride throughout the day east of most of the landrun lands, to a place only John knows. The lands were all opened by proclamation, and John knows the perfect place to make their dreams come to reality.

Since John’s fiancé was killed by Red-Legs back just before the war, John has not ever expected to try and settle anywhere. In fact, not even now. Oh, he might be taking part in the landrun, but this is a special case. He’s only doing this for his long-time friend and then moving on. Each male over the age of twenty-one was allowed to stake out one plot of land a piece. For this plan to work, Red-Feather will need at least 320 acres to work with.

They eat lunch in the saddle, arrive at the site in the middle of the afternoon and split up to take a parcel of land each. John rides up to the post on the second parcel of land by the creek they had crossed and pulls the papers off, feeling exultant. They’ve done it. Now they just have to keep it. Just before nightfall, John rides to the edge of his land to meet up with Red-Feather. Both men see the joy of having made it this far on each other's faces. Tomorrow, they will go to the land office listed on the papers and stake their claims. Then, at last Red-Feather will be able to bring his family and start the next phase of their plan.

That night, they share a campfire and meat from several snakes and rabbits that Red-Feather caught while exploring the land. Sitting by the fire, the friends share stories from each other’s past, stories the other had heard numerous times before, but are willing to hear again.

Red-Feather, normally taciturn and reticent, talks about how this area reminds him of where he grew up, southeast of Fort Sill. It’s like coming home again. I half expect to see Mother walking up from the creek holding an armful of reeds and a couple pots of clay any minute now. I keep looking to where we came from to see my father bringing a deer or elk for us to eat.

John, in all their years of association, has never heard this level of wistfulness in his friend’s tone. This is also the most words John has ever heard his friend speak in English at one time.

After filling their bellies and relaxing with celebratory sips from the flask, John feels quite nostalgic. Did I ever tell you how I came to be in the Army?

Red-Feather shakes his head slowly, unsure why John would open up now of all times.

"My oldest memory is of the sound of creaking saddle leather. I had just turned six years old a few weeks before, I think. We were going on a trip, my father said. We stopped and dismounted in front of a large three-story house. I remember seeing a lot of kids working around the yard, all with the same type of look on their faces. Hopelessness. When we got to the door, my father rang the bell and we were greeted by a nun, Sister Margaretta. She took one look at me, then at my father, sighed and motioned us in.

"We were shown to an office on the third floor, where another nun, Mother Maria, sat in a leather chair, at a desk in front of an open window. She motioned for my father to sit in the chair in front of her and for Sister Margaretta to take me out of the office. She took me to the second floor, which was open, with dozens of straw mattresses on the floor. She took me to the opposite end of the hall, and there was a small bowl of water sitting in front of a crucifix on the wall. She brought me over to it, showed me how to kneel, and guided me through a prayer. She then took some of the water from the bowl and made a sign of the cross on my forehead. She said, ‘Any time that you come into or go out of this room, you are to do just as I have done’. She also said, ‘This is going to be your new home for awhile’. I was young enough not to understand, so I asked if I could go outside and play. She said, ‘No child, because it is time for supper, and you must wash up to be ready to receive the Lord’s bounty.’

"We walked downstairs past a door that was closed, and she said, ‘That’s where the girls sleep. You are never to go inside that room. Ever.’ A little further down, on the other side of the hall she pointed to another room. This one was open, with rows and rows of benches. ‘This is the chapel. We have services every morning after breakfast and every evening after supper. You are required to attend each service, pay attention, and be quiet during them.’

We went out the front door, and my father’s horse was gone. I asked, ‘Where’s Papa?’

" ‘Child, you are staying here now. Your Heavenly Father, we sisters, and these other children are your only family now.’ I started crying. I was confused, felt alone, utterly betrayed.

"Sister Margaretta stood at the side of the porch and rang a large bell mounted there. All of the other kids came up and lined up single file in front of the porch. Sister Margaretta introduced me to my new brothers and sisters then showed me where my place was at the back. She moved to the head of the line, and the boy in front of me turned around and said, ‘Fresh meat, huh? I’m Josh.’

" ‘Johnny.’

We were marched around to the side of the building to troughs with pumps and Josh showed me how to wash up for supper. Once we’d washed up, we were led to a building in the back, filled with rows and rows of tables. The kids were seated from youngest in front to oldest in back. The Reverend Mother Maria said grace, and we went to where the food was served to us by older kids. We had potatoes and porridge, while the sisters ate chicken and potatoes at the head table. We were served and seated like we were in line. Josh and I were some of the last served and were seated on the first row.

John, while sharing his story, stares into the fire. He is interrupted by the rather loud snoring coming from his neighbor. He smiles and seeks his own bed roll.

Chapter 2

Johnny and Josh are on their way back with a couple of braces of rabbits for the sisters’ meals, their grins wide at the success of their mission. They are the best hunters at St. Gregory’s Orphanage. If they bring back enough meat, they will be rewarded with some of it for themselves. They are only a few hundred yards away, when Josh mentions smelling smoke.

They bolt towards the orphanage amidst the smoke and screams of the dying. The sight they come to is hell on earth. The grounds are strewn with the bodies of the other children and the sisters. The main building of the orphanage is ablaze, as is the chow hall. Leaving the scene are several dozen horsemen.

The two boys, now sixteen and seventeen, are stunned. They move around the edge of the clearing, out of the sight of either horses or men. They check the bodies for signs of life, finding none left alive. They work their way back to the chow hall and find Sister Margaretta, covered in blood, her nudity shocking to these boys. They move to cover her, as they had the others, when she groans. Josh starts trying to help her sit up, but stops when she screams. Both boys, tears flowing, kneel beside her. Josh takes a part of her shredded clothing and wets it with water from his water-skin. He dabs at her bloody face, trying to clear the blood from her eyes.

Boys? She moans.

We’re here, Sister.

Cold cellar. Trunk. She gasps and is racked by a choking cough, Father, forgive— Her body arches one last time, then falls to the ground, lifeless. Tears streaming down their faces, the boys go to the shed and get shovels. After they bury Sister Margaretta, they bury the rest. They say a short prayer over each one, as they were taught. The last funeral they had attended was that of Reverend Mother Maria, two years earlier. Now they buried Reverend Mother Rosa right next to her.

They work throughout the night until, utterly spent, both collapse. Johnny wakes late in the morning to the call of nature. He moves to the far side of the clearing and relieves himself at the base of a tree. He hears some rustling in the undergrowth, and fearing the return of soldiers, runs back to Josh. Josh, still half asleep, had just roused when Johnny gets back, demanding what is going on. Johnny explains what he heard and, armed with shovels, both boys check the edge of the forest. After more than an hour, they give up searching and gather what they can find in preparation to leave.

Josh asks, Think we should check the cellar?

I guess, who knows what we’ll find.

They go to the now empty stable by the edge of the woods. Just beyond it, they find the root cellar door is well hidden by undergrowth. The sisters always insisted they be the only ones to ever go in there. Still armed with a shovel, Josh breaks off the rusted padlock to the door. He enters first, and as Johnny follows, he hears from behind him an angelic voice ask, Johnny?

John startles awake , sure that his reason for waking wasn’t the dream. Red-Feather’s eyes are staring at him from across the campfire. With his eyes, Red-Feather indicates that what woke John was behind him, just past his head. John is lying on his right side, with his Colt in its cross-draw, covered by his blanket.

Slowly, deliberately, John draws his Colt from its holster and rotates, as if turning over in his sleep. He whips both head and gun around, to be faced with the barrel of a Winchester, scant inches from his head.

A gravelly voice says, Slowly release the hammer of your gun and throw it over towards me. Tell your injun if he makes a move, he dies.

John does as instructed, knowing he still has his derringer as a backup. After he tosses his gun, John slowly stands, hands held chest high, palms out. He sees the man accosting them, is middle-aged, thin, and dressed simply. He is holding the repeater rifle with an ease that makes John think he has held it often.

John stands and looks at the man. You are trespassing on our lands. We are here from the landrun. Then asks evenly, Who are you, and why are you here? He glances around counting eight riders with rifles pointed toward the pair. Too many to walk away unscathed.

I don’t know what you’re talking about, the man says. I own this entire area. This is my land, once I turn in these claim papers. He holds up the paperwork John remembers putting into his saddlebags several hours earlier.

So that’s it, claim jumpers. I will see you hang for this.

The man has an oily smirk on his face. That’s saying I let you live. You may notice, I outgun you. He waves backward to his men, swinging his rifle around.

This man is obviously dangerous in his recklessness. John looks at the riders. They appear to be young, most likely inexperienced. John slowly turns his head to Red-Feather. Red-Feather’s eyes open in comprehension and he barely shakes his head. John’s eyes narrow and he nods almost imperceptibly. Red-Feather sighs and nods the same way. Well, then it seems like we are at an impasse. You want us to get off your land, and we are ordering you off ours. John slowly starts edging toward his attacker. The distance is only about five feet.

Nope. No dispute. We have the papers, so you’re on my land. You’re trespassers. You deserve to be shot. He racks a round into the chamber and raises the gun to his shoulder. John has closed the gap enough now, he is able to move into action. In one smooth movement, John pulls his belt-knife, knocks the rifle aside, pulling his attacker around and off balance, then wraps his knife-hand around the man’s throat. Facing the men with his knife in the position to kill, John yells, Drop your guns or I put out the fire with his blood! Red-Feather stands quickly, raising his Winchester and racking a round into it.

The captive man starts trembling slightly, then yells, He’s serious, boys! Do as he says!

John leans in and whispers in a snarl, I knew you would see it my way. Now, leave all the papers and get out of here. If I see you on my lands again, I’ll make sure the ground drinks your blood. Just to emphasize his point, he nicks the man’s throat, drawing a small amount of blood.

Pa? one of the riders calls out.

Do as he says or he’ll kill me! The riders slowly bring their horses in closer and start disarming themselves of their assorted guns while John holds their leader under knife point.

Now that they are close enough, John sees they are all quite young and all appear to be related. AH. If you want to stay alive long enough to leave your sons a legacy, don’t jump any more claims, John whispers to the man, who gasps in response. My friend’s gun is trained on you. I am going to let you go. We will take your guns with us to the land office where you can pick them up. I will also tell them you tried to claim jump us, so you won’t be able to register these four other claims. Turn and go slowly to the horse your son is holding for you and leave. NOW.

John shoves the man toward his horse.

The man stumbles, catches himself and once mounted, turns his horse and says, I’ll see you dead for this! He spurs his horse on and leads the riders to the east, toward the lands of the Shawnee, which as yet, have not been opened to white settlement.

Well then, that was fun. John makes a face. What time do you make it?

Just a bit before first light.

Feel like stoking the fire? John asks. I can get some food ready, then we can get done and over with all this.

Red-Feather storms up to him and yells, Are you sun-touched? You almost got us killed!

I know. I took a risk, but I saw those green-horns and knew they wouldn’t shoot without their old man’s permission.

No more hare-brained ideas like that, okay?

John grins irrepressibly. No promises.

They eat a meager breakfast, gather all the guns, and ride toward the land office. They arrive around noon and are surprised by the number of people surrounding the tent. It isn’t only settlers. At a quick glance, John counts fifty cavalry troopers stationed around the land officer. The line isn’t too long, only four people. When John gets to the front of the line, he holds out the paperwork.

Only one claim per person, unless you were an Indian Scout, intones the land agent with a seemingly bored voice.

I was a scout—wait, what? How much land can an Indian Scout claim?

Four plots maximum, and we need the paperwork showing honorable discharge from service.

John motions Red-Feather, who is still carrying all the guns, over. I was going to give this man my claim anyways. He will be filing these claims. Also, who would I talk to about having been set upon by claim jumpers last night?

The land agent, without looking up from the paperwork in front of him, jabs his thumb over his shoulder pointing to a captain of the cavalry. Red-Feather hands John the guns before he runs over to the horses and grabs his discharge paperwork, while John carts the guns over to the cavalry detachment. We were set upon by claim jumpers last night, and would like to turn these guns we confiscated from them over.

The captain is stunned. Why would you turn them over to us?

I don’t want to be called a thief. We took them to keep them from being used on us while we slept. I told them that I was going to turn them over, and that I was going to tell you how we came across them. I’m no thief, and I sure don’t want no one sayin' otherwise.

Honorable as your intentions are, I doubt they will be reclaimed. If those claim jumpers have a brain in their head, they won’t come forward. If they haven’t been claimed in two weeks, come back by here and we will return them to you. We’re not babysitters. How did you confiscate them by the way?

John spends several minutes explaining what had happened several hours earlier, by the end of which, the Captain is smiling appreciably and hands him a reclamation ticket for the guns. Sounds like you got them rather nicely. Remind me not to get on your bad side. While John tells the tale, Red-Feather walks up with a single piece of paper, expression exultant.

Guess that’s it, eh? John asks archly.

Guess so.

They leave to go explore Red-Feather’s now greatly expanded acreage. They spend the rest of the day exploring the boundaries and plotting the location for the home camp. Once again that night, they sit around the campfire enjoying a fine meal and celebratory sips from the flask. However, by mutual consent, neither imbibe more than a few sips and each stand guard half the night.

Chapter 3

J ohnny? Liz asks.

Johnny is crouched, shovel at the ready to use in case of an attack. Who? How? HUH?

Liz starts crying and runs over to him.

Johnny stands and wraps his arms around his friend. I wondered where you were. I didn’t see you when we were burying everyone else. What happened?

Through her tears, Liz explains that she was sent out looking for some wild mushrooms several hours before the attack, how she heard the commotion and the screaming. She stayed in the forest until they left, but when Josh and Johnny came back into the clearing, she got scared and stayed overnight in the woods.

Johnny hears Josh come out of the cellar. Liz is the last person they were expecting to see. She is the smallest and weakest of all the teenage girls. However, she is the one person that Johnny wants to see the most. He held her against his chest, stroking her hair through the storm of weeping. There were several girls missing. Both boys had figured they were taken captive to be sold into cat houses. Johnny hears Josh come up and Josh motions back to the cellar. He’s going to find the chest.

A few minutes later, Johnny hears, Guys! I found it! from underground and both Johnny and Liz stand up. She slips her hand into his with a shy look, pleading. Johnny smiles and they both rush down into the cellar to see their friend standing in front of two chests. Slowly, Josh reaches down to open one of them.

The following morning , after enjoying breakfast together, Red-Feather leaves the property to go retrieve his family. He leaves John with the homestead paperwork.

John rides out to the edges of the property, and places tree branches every fifty yards down the length of the property line.

Once he completes that, it is nearly dark. John rides back to the area they have established their camp in, gets his change of clothing, soap and a towel, and rides over to the creek. Being careful to make sure he has his gun close by, John takes a bath and washes his clothes in the creek. He throws the wet clothes over a nearby tree branch to dry and settles in for the night there by the creek. Keeping a hand on his gun, John falls into a light, troubled sleep.

Opening the first of the trunks, they see it is filled with gold and paper money. The other is filled with personal items, letters, pictures, and such. Johnny looks at the letters, stunned. The three teenagers search through the trunks for anything with their names on them. Johnny sees a letter with his name on it, in an unfamiliar hand. He immediately rips it open and sees another contained in it as well.

July 20, 1850

Johnny, your father is gone. He rode into town, dropped this letter off at my office, went down the street, and took his own life. We are sorry for your loss.

Signed,

Sheriff Davis

Federal County Mo.

They hid this from me for ten years? Johnny exclaims incredulously, tears crowding his eyes once again.

Dere Son

I know yu are to young to understand this but I wanted to let yu know why I felt I had to do this I know yu probly won’t foregiv me for it I dropt yu off at the orphanage to weeks ago, cus yor ma died of konsumshun, and I got it to I don wanna die like she did so I am gon go out on my on terms May God grant you pees and helth I pray I got yu owt in tim Plees foregiv me fore not being ther fore yu growin up Just no yore ma n I wil alwas luv yu

Pa

Johnny falls heavily onto his backside. Pa hadn’t abandoned him, he'd saved him. Pa was dying. Johnny starts crying freely now. Liz walks up to him and presses his head to her breast. She starts stroking his hair.

Well, at least we have enough money we can live on, Josh says sardonically.

How can you think about money at a time like this? Liz demands fiercely. Everyone we know is dead, and only God knows who it was that attacked them, or if they will even come back. We are alone in the wilderness, surrounded by people that want to kill us or possibly do even worse.

Look, I am just trying to think of ways we can stay alive.

He’s right, Liz. Johnny wipes his tears and looks at her. And so are you. We don’t need to be here. We need to take some of this money, and git. We also need to hide the rest in case we need more. He stands, and squares his shoulders. No more tears. We are truly alone now. We have only each other to depend on.

What about God? Liz asks wide-eyed.

There is no God. He’s an invention of the church to steal the money, objects, and dreams of the unsuspecting public. This money proves it. Johnny shakes his head in disgust. Those sisters stole all this from US! He spits on the ground and sighs deeply. Well, whatever we do, we need to do it now. Who knows if those riders are gonna come back. We need to be somewhere else. He moves to get some of the paper money and gold.

Liz grabs his arm, pulls him back into her embrace and says softly, I’m scared, confused, and we’re all hungry. Shouldn’t we have something to eat? Shouldn’t we wait to leave until morning?

Much as Johnny wants to be away, it seems to be the best course of action. It is getting on to be late afternoon, and they are all exhausted enough to be stumbling around. He hates the thought of spending one more hour at the site of this tragedy, but he won’t really be able to do anything tonight anyways.

All three of them load their pockets with money and grab several unmarked jars. They troop out back to their temporary campsite. They gather some wood for a campfire and cook the rabbits that were caught the day before. They check out what kind of jars they brought up from storage. Liz had gotten several jars of pickled okra, Johnny pickled beets, and Josh had several jars of peaches.

They eat mostly in silence. Johnny stares at the flames, lost in thought about the revelations of the day. After they eat, Liz looks at him, turns to Josh, and shakes her head. Does anyone have an idea what we’re gonna do, where we’re gonna go? she asks.

Josh, interrupted from his musing, looks at her and in a distant voice, asks, Do you? You ‘n me been here around the same time. Did the sisters ever take you to town? Do you even KNOW where town is?

Liz stares into the fire. Well then, what now? Where do we go? How do we get there, and what do we do once we DO get there?

Johnny, rather bemused by the fire, replies, Did anyone recognize those riders?

What? No, I just saw some of them wearing blue, maybe, Josh replies.

That’s right! They were soldiers. I figure they were cavalry. Why would soldiers want to rape nuns and burn down an orphanage? Having the confirmation of his fears, Johnny begins to dread the direction of this conversation.

Josh looks at him for a moment, his mouth working noiselessly. I don’t know. Maybe they were looking for—God knows how much—gold and money that was hidden here?

We were only gone a few hours. That was barely enough time for them to have done this. Johnny motions around to the numerous graves and burned out buildings. If they were looking for money, don’t you think they would be spending some time, I don’t know, actually LOOKING for it?

Liz looks at the both of them, stunned. We have literally lost EVERYONE we have ever known or loved, and you two are sitting here trying to figure out their REASONING WHY?

Johnny looks at her. We need to know why so we can figure out if they are going to come back and kill us, or if they are done with us. Either way, we need to make sure one of us stands guard, while the other two sleep. I’ll do it first, while the two of you grab some shut-eye.

Josh snorts, and curls up under a blanket.

Johnny stands up, grabs a shovel, and walks over to the wall with a view over the camp. He leans up against it, bemused as he watches Liz get up and saunter over.

I’m glad you survived, she whispers to him. There’s something I have been wanting to talk to you about. The sisters would never let us have enough alone time, to be able to talk like this.

Talk like this, what? he asks, just as quietly. She steps up to him, wraps her arms around his neck, and kisses him, deeply, lingeringly.

Chapter 4

John wakes with a pang in his chest and a curse upon his lips. He looks around, and sees a fog developing off the water in the creek. From the position of the stars, John guesses it to be just before first light. He stands and stretches some of the kinks out. Out in the field, he sees a doe stand and shake herself. He grabs his rifle and sets his sights, only to see a speckled fawn rise up next to her and he lowers the rifle. You’re lucky this time.

After a meager breakfast from a can of beans, John starts working on building a soddie. Around noon, he breaks for lunch and sees smoke on the horizon. It doesn’t look too thick, little more than one would think would come from a campfire. Judging by the position of the smoke, however, it appears to be well outside the boundaries of Red-Feather’s property.

It does appear to be coming from the same direction as the land office, though. John puts his shirt on, saddles his horse, and rides over toward the column of smoke. After riding for more than an hour, he sees he was right about one thing. It was in the direction of the land office.

About two miles from where John remembers the land office to be, he sees a fire in the middle of the prairie, and several riders wearing white cloaks and hoods with horns attached, riding at a hard gallop away. He rides closer to the fire and sees what appears to be a wagon ablaze. As he gets closer, he looks for survivors and sees two people face down in the sparse grass. He takes a chance that they might be alive and checks for signs of life. They are bloodied and battered, but still breathing. It’s the Chinaman and his wife he remembered seeing in line during the landrun. John picks the man up and slings him over the saddle of his horse. He then picks up the man’s wife, puts her on top of her husband, and ties them both down to the saddle, keeping them from slipping. He walks his horse back to his temporary campsite.

He pulls them off the horse one at a time and lays them on the ground by the creek. The Chinaman groans when John starts tending to his wounds. However, his wife doesn’t stir at all. John spends the entire evening doctoring their wounds. He eats a little bit of the leftover meat from the night before. 

A little before midnight, the Chinaman wakes. John slowly and carefully crosses the campfire to stand in front of him. The man looks around fearfully. He hunches down onto his knees, treating the injured man much as a wounded animal. He holds out a cup of water, fresh from the creek. Would you like some water? The man stares back at him, dumbly. John offers it again, only to have the man not understand.

John sips noisily from it and offers the cup once more. The man’s eyes alight with comprehension. He takes the cup with a grunt of pain, but drinks it greedily. John points to his own chest. John. Then motions to the injured man questioningly.

Ling Quan, the man croaks pointing to himself. Ling We. He points to his wife, looking at her with concern. He tries to move over towards her supine body, but his own injuries prevent him from doing so. John walks over to Ling We, gently picks her up, and sets her down within reach of her husband.

With a loving look on his face, Ling Quan gently strokes his wife’s face, then feels her pulse. Assured that she is still alive, he relaxes a bit, but his expression is still wary. John brings some more water for him, and hands the cup over. He makes the sign for fire and shrugs, hoping the man would understand.

After a moment, Ling Quan starts motioning like horns and says, Emo. John shakes his head, not understanding. The injured man grunts in frustration, then says, How you say? Demon? He then motions like horns once more.

Demon? Horns? Claim being burned? UH OH. John gets another cup of water, then checks his rifle and revolver for ammunition. Both are fully loaded. He walks back over to Ling Quan. How much English do you know?

Heah beddah dan say.

Tell me if I say something you don’t understand. Ling Quan nods. I think you may have been attacked by a group called the bald-knobbers. Ever hear of them?

A thoughtful look, then a shake of the head in response.

Ever hear of the Ku Klux Klan? A nod. This group is smaller, but a lot more vicious. I’m surprised they let you live. Did you have anything of value? Gold, jewels, gems?

Ling Quan looks at John warily, obviously not trusting.

John snorts. Frankly, I don’t care. I just want to know if they were satisfied by what was taken, or if they will be back.

Ling Quan thinks a moment, then sighs in resignation. Got a rot, but not ar, buried de rest.

Do you think they were convinced they got everything?

Ling Quan nods. Dey no rook furder. I dink I foohed dem.

Just to be on the safe side, did you have any guns? Ling Quan shakes his head. Did you bring enough money to buy one? Even a shotgun? A nod. Well then, you two can stay with me long enough to heal up enough to travel. Did you already stake your claim? Another nod. Did you bury your claim paperwork with your valuables? A shake of the head. Did they get it? A nod. Then you may need to go turn the incident over to the marshal’s office when you go buy the gun. Go ahead and try to get some sleep. I’ll stand guard, make sure nothing happens.

Why? Why you hehp us? 

Two reasons. One, your wife is too pretty to turn into a widow. Two, I have been where you are. Unfamiliar area, injured, just enough money to do something, but no one to depend on while healing. Plus, I have had a few run-ins with the bald-knobbers, and would love to tweak their collective noses somethin’ hard.

Ling Quan gingerly lays back down, and tries to reach for his wife. John scoots her closer to her husband, allowing him to embrace her. Not long after, John hears a soft snoring coming from the man. Quietly, he walks over to the woman, and checks her over again. No change. He’s not too sure if she will ever wake up. With the injury to the back of her head, a concussion is likely. He just hopes her injuries aren’t too severe. While he’s no doctor, he has helped enough men and horses in the field to know a thing