Phillip had little or nothing to say after the incident. I could see it upset him. It upset me. It was bad enough trying to make it through each day keeping yourself out of trouble. Having someone cause you trouble was uncalled for.

The new five wagons stayed up a little better than when the teamsters were in control, but the Stewarts, Smithsons, and Trentons were noisy, messy, and slow. As long as they came into camp once Phillip called the day off, we paid them little mind.

"Do you think you'll meet up with Trag somewhere down the road?"

Phillip gave it a little thought.

"Never saw him before. We do travel in the same circles. It's likely as not, I'll run into him somewhere down the road. He's angry with me over something that didn't happen."

"Yeah, but some people hold grudges when they think they've been wronged."

"I suppose. We'll just have to wait and see. Wouldn't do to lose sleep over it."

Trag was an insolent sort. I took an instant dislike to him. There was something in the words he said that were more than a threat. I 'd definitely keep an eye open for Trag. Wouldn't want him taking me by surprise.

The new day started with the smell of coffee and Phillip moving around the campsite. The people in other wagons had begun to stir, and even the new five were up and had a campfire going when I climbed over the tailgate to get my feet on the ground.

The confrontation of the day before was put behind us. We had miles to go before we slept, and after hitching up the horses, we started moving west.

The land was mostly flat land. There were lots of farms and more people. The nature of the landscape changed the closer we came to St Louis.

The days were warm, not hot. I continued riding out ahead to check what was directly in front of us. I'd return to ride beside Phillip for a spell. I'd report what I'd seen to him while Chestnut walked beside the wagon matching its speed.

After we stopped to give the horses a break, I climbed up beside him on the wagon seat as we continued moving west. This broke the day up and made time go faster. It was in the afternoon, after we'd moved another few miles, Phillip might have something to say as the day dragged on.

"We'll reach the river tomorrow, John. We'll be in St Louis at dark," Phillip said.

"I've been to the river once. Memphis. Went into Arkansas. I'd bought some land near Little Rock. Had to wait to cross the river. It was spring and the river was running high."

"Should be normal now. By June the spring rains have mostly passed," Phillip said.

"I took a ferry across. There was talk of a bridge being built. Didn't see a bridge."

"They finished a bridge for the railroad at St Louis a while ago. Once they could get trains to St Louis, they built a bridge for the people. It used to take a couple of days to get a wagon train on the west side of the Mississippi. Now, it takes an hour for the entire wagon train to cross," Phillip said.

"Progress," I said.

The river was big. We had to wait for a herd of cattle to make the strip to the St Louis stockyards. The smell reminded me of where we started, but once we started to cross we were all across in an hour, like Phillip said. The cattle were off to the south and we continued through the city to the place where we'd lose the Simpsons and Mazeroskis.

The evening meal was eaten in a group and Mrs Simpson made some of her best dishes to have the final night together. They were all anxious to thank Phillip for getting them to where they were going on the first leg of their trip. It had mostly been uneventful, and these were nice people I'd grown to like. I loved Mrs. Simpson's biscuits. I'd miss those.

It was another half day to get the Stewarts and their wagons to where Chester Toms had nineteen other wagons waiting to leave. They couldn't go anywhere until the five wagons with us arrived. Then, he'd get them to Cheyenne.

We were well shed of the Stewart clan. I would not miss this cantankerous bunch.

Phillip stopped his wagon with five wagons in line behind us. There was no buffer between the Stewarts and us now. Luckily, all Phillip did was say, "Keep an eye on them, Chester, they're a hand full."

Chester pushed the hat back on his head, scratched his bald dome, and spit an industrial size chaw of tobacco out of his mouth, before saying, "Thank you, Phillip. I'll take it from here. Won't be no lollygagging on my train."

What happened after that would remain a mystery.

We got back on the wagon seat and left the last of the wagons behind us. It was like a new day. It was sunny, pleasant and we'd left all our headaches behind us. At least, that's the way it seemed to me.

Unfortunately, we had to go back into St Louis to meet with someone Phillip called Dan. He was the president of the 1st National Bank, St Louis. Phillip had messages he brought from New York and paperwork that needed to be delivered. You couldn't go any slower than by wagon train, but when it arrived, it was safe and sound. There was obviously no hurry in getting it to Dan. We left New York three months ago.

Dan put us up in the Missouri House, after we left the wagon and horses at a nearby stable. Dan and Phillip seemed well acquainted. They had a lot to talk about concerning the surveying Phillip was expected to do. They talked about a demon of some sort they'd both encountered. Phillip spoke of George and 1st National's eastern enterprises.

Dan spoke of gold discovered in and around Denver, and property prices were on the rise. The bank had bought the property he was surveying years before the gold appeared, but they still wanted to keep their eye on the gold rush. Dan and 1st National Bank wanted to know if they were sitting on any gold mines.

"If there's money to raise, I want to raise it," Dan told Phillip. "We have Robby doing the surveying closer to Denver. Gold makes the land even more valuable. You trained him I believe. He's got a real handful with that property. I might send you to help get it all done, once you're done in eastern Colorado Territory, and that will take most of a year, and it's two months or more from St Louis."

"I'm at your service. It's a long way to Colorado. I'll be ready to do something by the time we get out there," Phillip said. "Can't speed up the survey. It takes time to do it right."

"You're going to survey the other half of the mountain you surveyed last year. We finally got title to it. You said the cabin there is a perfect place to live while working there."

"It's beautiful. Someone used it for hunting. 1st National bought it before we did the survey. It was well constructed and even after it got cold, we were comfortable at night."

"Give me an estimate of how long it might take?" Dan asked.

"John has signed on to help me, so I won't need to look for help. We can probably get it all done in eight months to a year, depending on weather and how extensive 1st National's holdings are. A year at the most. We'll do our best to get it done as soon as possible. I wouldn't mind seeing Robby, and I'd like to get a gander at the gold fields."

"Gold interests you, does it?"

"Seeing where it is interests me. You know as well as I do, the talk of gold will draw ambitious men who think they'll get rich off the gold they find. Gold will bring the enterprising men that go with any boom. It'll also draw trouble that comes with people."

"You did hear Custer discovered gold in the Black Hills last year?"

"Custer? He was against giving the Sioux those hills, and he's the one that discovered gold there?"

"It's all over Washington, but the usual folks are flooding into the mountains the Fort Laramie treaty gave to the Indians. Crazy Horse, Sitting Bull, and Red Cloud aren't happy."

"It just speeds up the inevitable," Phillip said. "The survey I'm on at present is the far side of the mountain, and from what I remember, it's a thousand acres larger than what we did last year. It could take a year. We'll work until we get it done, Dan. Then, we can go see what Robby has near Denver."

I'd mentioned helping Phillip, because I had nothing else to do. I didn't know where I was or what I was going to do since I wasn't going to die. Phillip was fascinating and working with him was something I wouldn't mind. I was alive. I had to do something.

I'd once said I wouldn't mind staying on to help him with the surveying. That's about all I said. I got no reply when I said it, but Phillip obviously heard me and took it as my application as his assistant surveyor. Now. I'd find out what a surveyor did.

Many things were that simple in Phillip's world. Other things about Phillip were complicated. The trivial got moved to one side with little effort, but there was a part of Phillip that stayed hidden. I'd asked leading questions trying to get at the mysterious man. Those questions went unanswered. I was still left to wonder.

I felt close to Phillip. There was a distance between us that remained in place.

With Chestnut tied to the back of the wagon beside Dobbin, we started out early the next morning, after three days in St Louis. The hotel had been nice. A variety of good food was welcome. Moving again was good. I didn't like St Louis any better than I liked New York.

We'd rolled along for a couple of hours when Phillip started to talk.

"In the spring," Phillip said. "In the cabin in the valley where the river runs, the river runs high for weeks. Can't get out of the house. Oh, I waded out to tend the animals, but Paw'd stand in the doorway looking out at the land covered in water. He couldn't do a thing until the water was gone a week. It was like being on an ocean. All the land we could see was under water. For a few weeks some years"

I listened to him speak as we moved west. From time to time he'd say something about before I joined him on his wagon. I usually didn't know what it meant, and Phillip wasn't into explaining. He spoke and I listened. I got some idea of where he came from.

Leaving St Louis behind was as good a thing as we'd done. Even with my health vastly improved, being in smelly, noisy cities wasn't my cup of tea. All my years of roaming the South had me shy toward being in cities. Too many people too close.

The wide open spaces were wide and open. As we distanced ourselves from St Louis, I began to wonder about what was ahead of us. The landscape hadn't changed much. It was still mostly flat but less developed the further the wagon rolled.

"How far, Phillip?"

Phillip laughed.

"You in a hurry?"

I laughed.

"Wouldn't do to be in a hurry, would it?"

"No, we do our mile an hour and spare the horses. They'll keep walking as long as we need them to walk. Horses are rarely in a hurry. Two weeks across Missouri, day or two more. Kansas is the long slog. It's going to be hot and dry. It'll take twice as long to cross Kansas then it does to cross Missouri. Maybe closer to three times as far."

"Then what?"

"Colorado Territory. I was there up until last year. I know the land we'll be surveying. It's beautiful and everything we need is not too far away. Some surveying is done in God forsaken spots in the middle of nowhere. This is country men don't mind at all. I didn't mind it, and as work goes, this won't be a strain. The days will be long but not that difficult."

"You're going to teach me to survey?"

"I am. Won't take much teaching. You'll watch what I do for a spell, then we'll reverse rolls, and I'll watch you do it. It's important to get the right readings, but once you know what you're looking for, it's easy."

I'd found that nothing in life was all that easy. Maybe surveying was different.

As we moved into the afternoon, and we ate some food we bought in St Louis for the purpose, Phillip began listening for something. He let the horses trot a little for the first time. He slowed them down. He listened as we moved west.

"Going to pull over in this next town. My left rear wheel isn't turning right. I can feel it in the reins. Wouldn't due to break down in the middle of nowhere, John. We'll get us a store bought meal and maybe get a beer while the smithy takes a look see."

It was a nothing town. The blacksmith sat off to the right at the end of the four blocks of shops and buildings that stood close together.

The blacksmith said we couldn't do no better than Maw's Place, and we settled in for a meal of meatloaf, potatoes, and fresh corn on the cob. Maw's Place didn't look like much, and I wasn't really hungry, but it was good food.

After an hour, we stood in front of the restaurant with another hour to kill.

"He said two hours. There's a saloon across the street. Feel like a cold beer?"

"Weren't you the one that got on those folks about drinking?" I asked.

Phillip turned to look at my face. He knew I checked his logic from time to time.

"You know as well as I do, a man drinks a beer and he does fine, John. A man drinks a dozen beers and he's falling down drunk. Steward was falling down drunk. I won't have that, because it's the road to trouble. I heads off trouble as often as I can."

I smiled, knowing what he'd say, but I wanted to hear him say it.

The beer was cold and it hit the spot. I put my empty glass on the bar as Phillip had a bit of beer left in his glass. We were in no hurry, but I wasn't going to ask for a second beer.

It was then I heard it.

Had I not been doing what I was doing, and that was absolutely nothing, I might have let it slip past me, but I knew the sound. I'd only heard it once before, but it was disturbing enough that I pushed myself away from the bar, turning to go outside.

"What is it?" Phillip asked as he turned away from the bar.

"Bullwhip," I said, stepping on to the wooden walkway outside the saloon.

As I assessed the situation, Phillip passed me, stepping into the street. He immediately knew what to do, while I was assessing.

Phillip's body came between a tall slender boy and the business end of the bullwhip. The back of his shirt was ripped open and a long welt was left on his back.

I couldn't be sure which way to go.

The man with the bullwhip tugged hard and then harder on the whip. When Phillip used his body to cover the boy's body, he used his right arm to catch the tail in his right hand, and when he stood up, he yanked the whip, which sailed into the air to fall at Phillip's feet. He picked the whip up and started toward the man.

There was no doubt in my mind, the man who previously held the bullwhip was about to get a taste of his own medicine.

"Why you! He's mine. I own him. How dare you get in my way."

When the man realized Phillip was coming for him, he went for his gun.

I was done assessing. I knew exactly what to do. I pulled my waist gun and shot him.

As Phillip was ready to release the whip on him, several men grabbed him. "He's shot. Don't whip him," one man told Phillip.

"He needs more than shooting. He needs to feel this whip," Phillip argued.

Phillip wasn't fighting three men and he relaxed, dropping the whip, turning his attention back to the boy.

"He's mine. I own him.," the man said. "I can do what I want with him."

Once again I knew what to do. My mind was as clear as it had ever been, and I knew exactly what to do.

With my gun still in my hand but resting at the side of my leg, I stepped down on the dirt and I walked to the man prone on the ground.

"I'm shot. I'm bleeding. Get me a doctor," the man ranted.

As he made an effort to get up, using the tow of my boot, I pushed him back down.

"What did you say?" I asked, putting the bore of my .44 on his nose.

"What?" he said, his eyes looking crossed. "I'm shot. You shot me."

"What did you say?" I asked

Thinking fast, the panicked man said, "I'm shot. Get me a doctor."

"No, No, that isn't it. Before. What did you say before?"

People were crowded around wide eyed as I interviewed the bullwhip man.

"I own him. He's Mine."

"That's it. That's what I wanted to hear."

"Who are you?" he asked between panic and hysteria.

"I'm a speculator. I'm speculating I'm going to buy the boy from you. How much?"

"He ain't for sale. He's mine. I own him."

I clicked the hammer back on my gun as the crowd gasped. I pushed the bore of my .44 harder against his nose.

"No, you see, now you're getting yourself in deeper. You want to back out. We can get out of this mess if you don't say that again. You see where I'm going? Let's get back to speculating and see if we can find a way I don't need to shoot you."

"No."

"How much? You need to be very careful now, because if you give me the wrong answer, I'm going to blow your brains out. How much?"

He started to cry at the idea of his brains being blown all over God's little acre.

I reached in my pocket for a twenty dollar gold piece I carried for luck. I dropped it on the shot man's chest.

"That cover it? Be careful now, we almost got ourselves clear of this mess," I said.

He nodded furiously.

"For the folks who can't see. He's nodding yes. I own the boy now."

I let the hammer back down easy like, and I fell in behind Phillip, who was a half a block away, carrying the boy toward the blacksmith's. No one followed us, and I put my gun away. I wouldn't have blown his brains out, but the nice thing about speculating, he speculated that I would blow his brains out.

I could hear the boy crying in the wagon. Phillip went out and when he came back, he was prepared to make a poultice for the boy's back.

"What's going on out there?" the smithy asked. "Did I hear gunfire?"

"Some guy was whipping that boy with a bullwhip."

"He's Nester's boy. That's a nasty rattler," he exposed.

"His rattle got itself bent up. I just shot him," I said.

"Man, I wouldn't want to be you. He'll be after you now. If he can't get you fair, Nester will shoot you in the back. I'll have this wheel on in another ten minutes, you boys need to get clear of here. I don't want Nester coming up here."

"You going to be all right. No one will ever beat you again. I promise you that."

I could hear Phillip's words as the smithy put the wheel back on the wagon and let the jack under the axle down.

"There you go. Buck and half ought to cover it," he told me.

I gave him two dollars and said for him to keep the change.

"He's sleeping," Phillip said when he scooted over the tailgate.

"Let's get out of here. I don't like this place," I said.

We drove the wagon down the street and passed between Maw's Place and the saloon. No one was on the street, and only a few people were on the wooden walkway as we left the town that had no name I knew of. I hoped we left the trouble behind us.

It was closing in on dark before we got an hour beyond the town where we found Samuel. Phillip pulled the wagon in between a clump of trees.

I'd been happy to see the last of the wagons leave us. It would be a time alone with Phillip, and I was sure I'd learn more about him. A wobbly rear wagon wheel, and a stop for a beer changed that. Samuel joined our little survey team as we moved west with him in my bed, healing and getting used to the idea he would never be beaten again.

I didn't know a thing about our new ward, because he said nothing. Phillip kept the poultice on his back and he made him drink that terrible soup. The boy did not complain or speak. Phillip spoke as he tended to his back. His words were soft, the meaning clear.

For the next day the wagon rolled along. Samuel stayed in my bed. He did not wake at all during the day. We'd put maybe eleven or twelve miles from the town where we found the boy, but there wasn't much comfort in our slow progress. I good horse could catch us in little more than an hour as we pulled over at the end of the second day.

No one knew we came in a wagon or left in one. That meant someone wanting to even the score with the man who shot him didn't know what he was looking for. He saw me fine, but mostly he saw my pistol. I kept my waist gun on just in case.

That evening, after putting a new poultice on his back, and giving him the drink, he did something new. As I watched the activities from the front of the wagon, Phillip took the crying boy in his arms.

"You're fine now. No one is ever going to beat you again. I promise you that, and I always keep my promises," Phillip told him.

It's the first time I heard Samuel speak.

"Thank you," he said weakly and he fell back to sleep while in Phillip's arms.

We kept on moving. I half expected Nester to catch up with us and try to get the boy he owned back, but I had one regret about the incident. I was sorry I hadn't killed him.

I'm never pointed my gun at a man in anger. Now, I'd shot a man, and my only regret was not killing him. How I arrived there it wasn't clear to me, but seeing a boy so badly beaten, had me as angry as I got. I was sorry they stopped Phillip before he could whip him.

"Heard that sound once before," I said, as I sat on the seat the next day.

"How's that?"

"The bullwhip. I was speculating in South Carolina. I was new to my buggy. I'd made a bundle on land I bought in Georgia, and I was heading up toward Charleston in South Carolina. Lots of prime land up there, and I'm buying and selling better land all the time."

It was a vivid image as I recalled it for Phillip.

"I heard the bullwhip crack. That's how I knew what the sound was yesterday. They had this slave with his hands tied on a tree limb above his head. His toes could hardly touch the ground, and this fat old man with the bullwhip was lashing him with it," I said. "He struck, let his arm relax as he drew the whip back, and he struck him again."

"Nasty business, bullwhipping," Phillip said.

"I don't know if the slave was even alive. He hung there silent as he was beaten. I had my 30/30 beside my leg. I'd taken it off my horse when I took the saddle off him before he began pulling my nice new carriage. I almost reached for the 30/30. I was maybe fifty yards away. No one even knew I was there. I wanted to shoot the man with the whip."

"What did you do, John?"

"I drove off. I was afraid to shoot him. To my everlasting shame, I drove away without helping that man. It was the south. It's different down there, Phillip."

We rode in silence for a time. Samuel would wake, cry a while, and then he went back to sleep.

"You didn't do nothing yesterday, John. If you hadn't have known what it was, I was ready to order us another beer. Thanks to you, we saved that boy's life. He might not of been kilt yesterday, but that miserable skunk would have killed him sooner or later."

"I expect so," I said. "I remembered that slave. I wondered if he died."

"Which reminds me, thank you, John. You saved my life. If you hadn't of shot that skunk, he'd of killed me. I wasn't wearing my waist gun. Luckily you were wearing yours."

"No one will shoot you while I'm around, Phillip. You're the best man I know."

"Well, thank you, John. I do my best. I just do what needs doing. You backed me up with that Stewart klan and with the teamsters. Don't think I didn't notice you were right there with me, after I told you is wasn't your responsibility."

Phillip Dubois did what needed doing and he did it well. This was a new leg of our journey west. We'd taken on a lad that I bought and Phillip was nursing. We didn't know what we were getting ourselves into, but whatever it was, we went into it willingly. It's not often you can save a life, but we knew we saved Samuel from his hell on earth.

It took the entire week before Samuel was able to sit up at the campfire at night, but he came out of the wagon at the end of that week. I'd taken to sleeping under the wagon next to the front wheel. Phillip slept next to the rear wheel.

When Samuel made a noise, Phillip was up and making sure he was okay.

When he came around to the campfire, he had a towel Phillip gave him over his shoulders that covered half his back. I went to my carpet bag and brought back one of my shirts, I gave it to him.

"When you need a shirt, this will be a bit big, but it should keep you warm."

He watched my face while I explained it to him, and then he took the shirt when I handed it over.

"It's nice," he said. "Thank you. Thank both of you."

He looked at the shirt like it was the nicest thing he'd ever seen.

He spoke softly like someone weak from being ill. When Phillip gave him a hunk of rabbit that was cooking over the fire, he once again looked up at Phillip, at the rabbit, and then he said, "Thank you."

When Phillip went out to get fresh meat, he usually got something small. He didn't want to bring down a big animal, and have a lot of meat we wouldn't eat. The fresh meat was as tasty as anything I ever ate, but after a day or two, dried meat got old. Even when it was salted or smoked, it lost flavor, but when I was hungry, it hit the spot.

Phillip shot two rabbits that night, and there wasn't a morsel left. As long as he kept handing meat to Samuel, the boy kept eating. I could see his ribs when he moved around, and it was obvious he hadn't been over fed.

My shirt was a bit baggy on him, but it wasn't too bad. I could buy clothes and we talked of buying Samuel some clothes, when we reached a general store. Phillip did make him take the pants off to wash them at one stop. They were filthy and worn. The smell was enough to make a good man swoon.

"Sammy Boy, another piece of meat. Plenty left."

"Yes, Sir," Samuel said, taking a stick full and going to work.

Samuel had begun to come to life along about then. He had the whitest skin I think I'd ever seen. His strawberry blond hair could have passed for close to being white. He had vivid blue eyes that reminded me of Barnaby. He had a nice face and a pleasant smile.

He got familiar with the horses first, and once Phillip had unhitched them and hobbled them to graze next to where he stopped the wagon, Samuel took to talking to the horses the same way Phillip talked to them in a reassuring voice.

I found myself watching him and wondering where he'd come from and how that skunk got a hold of him. As mean as you can make a man by beating him, Samuel wasn't the least bit mean. He was kind and gentle with the horses, and that told me what kind of lad he was.

With three of us able to do surveying, it left two to survey, and one to hunt, while the other two worked. In that way, there was fresh meat to be cooked once our day was done. Phillip always did the cooking, but Samuel would become a good hunter.

Samuel was part of our company. It wasn't spoken of or mentioned. It's how it was as we put distance between us and the town where we found him.


Send Rick an email at quillswritersrealm
@yahoo.com

On to Chapter Seven
"Sammy Boy"

Back to Chapter Five
"Pantywaist"

Chapter Index
Going Home Main Page

Rick Beck Home Page