Cody

Part two of Cody. I recommend reading or rereading part one first.

Thanks to a76pinto for beta reading this more me and pointing out a few of my obvious errors.

Still working on my grammar, so bear with me.

Chapter 1

The closer I rode to Cody, the tighter the pain squeezed my chest. This would be my first trip back since I had lost Desi four years ago. I doubt if many people there would recognize me, but I wasn't concerned if they did. Maybe my presence would serve as a warning to the outlaws in town.

I briefly wondered if my Marys were happy and enjoying their life as ladies in France. Had they found husbands, or would they be content in each other's arms for the rest of their lives? Both had amazing souls, and I hoped for a lifetime of happiness for them.

I know the Dela-Qua's had opened a new restaurant in New Orleans, appropriately named 'Desi's' . Lady Dela-Qua did not open another brothel, instead she was content working alongside her husband.

I had spent a week in New Orleans last year, each night I sat across the street watching the restaurant trying to work up the nerve to walk in. I never did. I told myself they didn't need to be reminded of the pain, but it was a lie I told myself to justify my weakness.

I arrived in Cody early afternoon the following day. After watering my horses, I made my way to the general store to see my old friend Hans. We had met ten years ago when I was working on a wagon train and Hans was traveling West to make his fortune.

After Desi was killed, I gave Hans my last $2,000 telling him to invest it into his store. At first he refused until I told him it was an investment in case I somehow lived more than a couple years. If I didn't, I knew the money would help out some good people.

I tried to sneak in unseen, but the bell on the front door gave me away. Hans' eyes gleamed and his face lit up with a huge smile. "Isaac my boy, it has been too long! Ingrid, you have a visitor." he yelled into the back room.

Hans and Ingrid were some of few people alive that I trusted and would call my friends. Ingrid is the only person who I still let love me. She came out, teared up and threw her arms around my neck into a tight hug and whispered "I missed you boy."

I chuckled and replied "I am not a boy anymore."

Standing only 5'4 she smiled up at me standing at 6'2 in my socks and said "You will always be my boy no matter how big you are. She stepped back and looked me up and down. "Judging by your size I would say you still have the same appetite."

Years of hard work had broadened my shoulders and deepened my chest and even though I weighed over 220 pounds, not an ounce of it was fat.

"Dinner is still at 7:00 unless you have other plans."

"That sounds wonderful, I have missed your wonderful cooking."

"It certainly doesn't look like you have missed many meals." She teased me.

The store was busy so I didn't want to take up too much of their business time. I simply waved at Hans on my way out and told him I would see him tonight.

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Thousands of settlers traveled by wagon trains every year, heading West to make their fortunes. People were taken in by the tales of gold laying around everywhere and easy fortunes to be made. Smart people like Hans knew these people would all need supplies, and they would be in high demand.

Hans had a small store in St Louis, but competition was tough. It seemed like there was a store on every corner. Week after week Hans watched wagon trains roll out with the promise of a better life. After a particular bad day at the store Hans finally decided he had enough of just scraping by.

Cody was the hot new boomtown where goldmines were striking it rich daily. Hans decided it was finally time to make a better life for his family. He sold his store, loaded the rest of his inventory into three new wagons and went to find a wagon train to join.

I was fourteen years old and already driving wagons in Bill Horton's wagon train. Hans had approached Bill to join his wagon train with his three wagons. Hans would drive the first wagon, his wife and son were able to drive his second but he needed to hire someone to drive his third.

Bill called me over and told Hans that each wagon was five dollars a week for being a part of the train. He could hire me to drive the third wagon for an additional five dollars a week. He would also have to feed me since I would be working for him and not the train. Hans looked at me with disbelief in his eyes, but Bill assured him that I could do the job. Men grew up quickly in the West, a lesson I had already learned.

Although it seemed like a lifetime ago, only two years prior I had been a happy boy, growing up on our family farm. My parents settled on a land stake to raise produce, eggs, and chickens to sell at Fort Laramie. We soon found they had unknowingly picked a perfect location right along the Oregon Trail.

By the time wagon trains traveled past my parents farm they were almost always low on supplies. Instead of paying the higher prices at the fort, most wagons would load up on fresh produce, eggs, and supplies at my parents farm. Soon my mother and sister started baking bread and biscuits to sell to the wagon trains as well.

The owner of the store at the fort was a disgusting pig named Sandoval. Each week his sales started falling more and more. One day he decided to take a ride to our farm to find out how we were taking so much of his business away.

He rode into our yard and stopped to openly leer at my mother and sister. He addressed my father "Listen here, I have been supplying these trains for years and you have no right to cut into my business. Now either stop selling to the wagons, or there will be trouble."

"We don't want any trouble, but there are enough wagon trains and enough business for all of us. We settled this land legally, made it our own, and we don't intend to leave." My father was an honest man, and a hell of a farmer, but he was no fighter and Sandoval could see it.

With one last leer at my mother, Sanoval turned his horse and headed back down the trail "This is your first and last warning, either stop selling to the trains, or I wont be as polite next time."

My parents were a bit naive and thought that Sandoval was just trying to scare them off. It was a mistake that cost us dearly.

A few weeks later pa and I were working in the garden preparing for the next wagon train that would be coming through in two days. I looked up to the sounds of pounding hooves to see Sandoval along with three other men riding through our garden right up to my father and I.

Without a word, one of the men drew his gun and shot my father three times. I rushed forward, but one of the other men pulled out a tomahawk and swung at my head. I ducked just a fraction of a second too late, I felt a searing pain on my head and everything went black.

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The cold night air woke me up. I sat up, but the only thing that could be seen was the smoldering embers of what was once our home. Feeling weak and dizzy I heaved out my guts before curling into a ball and passing out again.

The roosters woke me the next morning, I was finally able to get to my feet, still weak and dizzy. I felt my head and could feel where the tomahawk had struck me a glancing blow. The skin was open for several inches and dried blood covered my face. They probably thought I was dead, and I felt like I almost was.

Pa still was lying where he had fallen a few feet away from me, dried blood covered his chest. I started towards the house calling for my ma and sister to come out from where they were hiding. I walked towards what used to be the rear of our home and I found them. Their clothes were almost all gone, and by the color of their skin I knew they were dead as well.

I started to cry and felt the bile rise in my throat, but then an image came into my mind and I swallowed it down. Sandoval. I felt my sorrow turn into hate, the seeds of revenge already planted in my mind. But first things first.

I made my way to the small stream that ran along our garden. Stripping down I washed the dried blood from my face and head, making the bleeding start all over again. I washed my shirt and ripped it into strips to wrap my head in. After I was satisfied my wound was taken care of I moved upstream a few yards and drank until I couldn't drink anymore.

Sandoval and his men burned the house and took our horses trying to make it look like an Indian raid. I found a shovel and set about the task of digging their graves. There was a shaded spot along the stream that my parents used to sit and enjoy the evening sun after a hard day's work. Digging three shallow graves I laid my family to rest and said a prayer. It took awhile, but I covered the graves with stones to keep the animals from digging them up.

By the time I was done it was early afternoon and I was starving. Food was not going to be a problem, we had dozens of chickens laying plenty of eggs every day, as well as our field full of produce. I rummaged around in the ashes where the kitchen used to stand and found the frying pan.

Knowing there was a garden full of ripe food I dug up some potatoes, carrots and onions and mixed in some eggs. It was somewhat ironic that my dinner was cooked over the embers of what was once my home.

What little time I had left in the day was spent gathering what was left of our possessions, well my possessions now. Luckily I found one of my fathers old coats in a lean to where we kept our horses, so I started gathering what little I could find there. I built a small fire, wrapped myself in an old horse blanket and fell asleep.

I must have been extremely tired, or still feeling the effects of my head injury because when I woke the next morning the sun was already high in the sky. An old man was sitting across the fire from me with a cup of coffee waiting for me to wake up. He filled another cup and handed it over to me, "What happened here son?"

"Sandoval and his men. Killed my parents and sister. I buried them yesterday by the stream. They must have thought I was dead."

"Why would he do that?"

"He warned us to stop selling to the wagon trains, said the business belonged to him and he wasn't going to share. Who are you?"

"I am the scout for the wagon train that is supposed to be here in two hours. Do you have any family that you can stay with?" I looked deeply into my cup of coffee looking for an answer before shaking my head no. "Well, we will see what Bill says when the train gets here."

My parents always preached to us to be a good host, and to always offer food and drink to visitors. "Are you hungry? I have plenty of potatoes and eggs I can cook up."

For the first time I saw surprise in the old man's eyes. Here I was injured with a dead family and I was offering him food. "A man can always eat, and we have a couple hours before the train gets here. Are you feeling up to it?"

I just nodded, welcoming the distraction. I dug up and fried some more potatoes and onions, then mixed in a dozen eggs while the old man wandered around the farm. "It doesn't look like they left you much." he said as he poured us a couple cups of coffee. Neither one of us wanted to make small talk so we just ate and drank coffee.

"Thanks for the meal, it was good. I am going to ride back and meet the train, we should be here in a couple of hours and then we can have one of the women look at your head and go over your options."

I got busy preparing for the wagon train. Most of what we had prepared already was in the house when they burned it. Over the next two hours I was able to collect a hundred chicken eggs, dig up some vegetables, and gather some firewood before I had to sit down again.

Pa had always instilled in me good habits, work hard, and be polite. Now I hated the weakness I felt, not only from my injury, but the weakness from the position I found myself in.

I heard the train long before I saw them, I pushed myself to be up and about when they pulled into the farm. The old man rode up with another man I took for the wagon master. He had a hard look in his eye that almost bordered on rage.

"Name is Bill Horton, I am the wagon master. Verne here told me about your family and said Sandoval did it."

"My name is Isaac sir, Sandoval killed my family, raped my mother and sister, and burned our house."

His stare bored into my eyes, daring me to look away, looking for any sign I was lying.

"Son, this is serious, are you 100% sure it was him? There can be no doubt that it was Sandoval."

I kept his gaze, never wavering "There is no doubt sir, I saw them kill my father with my own eyes, then they hit me with a tomahawk."

The look of rage burned even hotter in his eyes. "Well, no wagon in any of my trains will ever spend a cent with him again, and I will spread the word to every other wagon master I see. No one really likes him anyway. Everyone loved your family, they will be missed, what are your plans?"

"For now, live in the lean to where we kept our horses, try to sell what I can to the wagon trains, hunt down and kill Sandoval and the three men that were with him."

"How old are you?"

"Twelve."

He looked at me for another long hard minute. "That is a mighty tall order for anyone, let alone a twelve year old, even one who seems as mature as you. How about instead, you work for me on the trains, give you a few years to grow before you try taking down Sandoval?"

My pride started to get the best of me, but I swallowed hard and thought about what Pa would want me to do. Seeing my struggle he gave me a way out. "How about we have one of the women look at your head while you think about it?"

Without giving me a chance to answer he asked a heavy set middle aged woman who was standing nearby looking like a mother hen. You could tell by the look on her face that she desperately just wanted to just hold me tight and tell me it would be alright, instead she settled for taking my hand and leading me to her wagon.

"Katie, come give me a hand with this young man."

A young girl just a couple years older than me came over and looked at me with wide eyes. After getting my blood soaked bandages off and my head cleaned up she said

"This really needs to be sewn up. I can do it, and you will have a scar but it will heal better and wont get infected. The bad news is that no matter how careful I am, it is going to hurt mighty bad."

"Ok, go ahead." I laid my head back on a sack of beans she put out for a pillow and closed my eyes.

"Katie you need to hold him down and not let him move around while I sew him up. Hold him real still."

Katie sat by my side and lightly put her hands on my shoulders. I thought to myself that she probably was too nervous to hold me at all if I tried to move. I closed my eyes as she started stitching me up.

Every time she would thread the needle through my skin I would think of my ma, next stitch my pa, next stitch my sister, next stitch Sandoval, next stitch how I was going to kill Sandoval.

I was so intent on my thoughts of killing Sandoval I didn't even hear her say she was done. She was able to find me a shirt near my size from a neighboring wagon so I wouldn't have to wear my fathers oversized coat everywhere.

"Thank you ma'am, I appreciate it. Would you like some fresh eggs, I have plenty gathered up?"

She looked at me with surprise and said "Thank you, that would be wonderful. We haven't had eggs in weeks, but we can't pay you much. Like most of the other wagons we are running low on funds and eating mainly rice and beans every day. Along with whatever game the scouts can shoot."

Suddenly it hit me then what I was going to do. I found Bill Horton who was making sure all the livestock was getting plenty to drink.

"May I speak with you sir? I will work with you until I am man enough to kill Sandoval. I want the wagon train here to help themselves to whatever is left on the farm. All the vegetables, chickens, eggs, anything they can find they can have."

"That is mighty Christian of you son, it will be a pleasure to have you along. I will have Verne show you how to take care of the livestock, how to hitch the teams, and how to drive a wagon, and how to care for them. I will pay you five dollars a week as long as you pull your fair share of work." WIth that he stuck out his hand we shook on it.

At the end of the first train Bill called me over to the fire where the train traditionally had a final meal together before going their own way. Verne led a saddled horse over to me while Bill continued.

"Every wagon pitched in to buy you this horse and saddle. They appreciate all the food, chickens and eggs you gave them and wanted to see you set on the road of life."

I was beyond surprised and thankful, I went around and shook the hand of everyone on the train, vowing to myself I would not waste the gift I had been given.

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The following two years, I grew quickly and learned as much as I could. I kept quiet, never saying much but I was always listening. I kept my distance from people as much as possible. never wanting to get close to anyone again.

Each time we passed through Fort Laramie, I would stop to see if Sandoval was still in business. I really hoped he wouldn't die before I was ready to kill him myself. True to his word Bill Horton never allowed anyone traveling with one of his trains to spend a dime at his store. Usually when passing through we would camp at the site of our old farm, I secretly think he did it so I could visit my family.

Little did I know at the time, but my trip with Hans would be one of the last working on a wagon train. The trip took a little over four months, which was the average length for a trip. Every day I would hitch up the mules to the wagon and eat dust all day long. At the end of the day I would unhook the team, lead them to water and picket them to graze for the night.

By the time all that was done, Hans' wife Ingrid would have supper ready. I tried to keep quiet and keep my feelings buried, but that darned woman could see the pain in my eyes and was determined to get into my heart. I never let her know it, but her love was the only bright spot in my life during those first two years.

When we arrived in Cody, word quickly got around that a supply train had shown up and a new store would be opening soon. Within a month he had sold all his goods and made enough to build his store and send for five more wagons full of goods. My friend Hans was on his way to that better life he dreamed of.

Chapter 2

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Since it was only midafternoon, I made my way to the saloon to see what news I could pick up through the grapevine. Before entering, I pulled my hat down low, and slowly shuffled in. To anyone who may look up, I was again a half drunk sleepy cowboy, a person that was easy to ignore.

Quickly scanning the room I immediately recognized the Beck brothers. They were sitting at a round table playing cards with three more of Parsons' men. Men like these were the type I loved to kill, and I had to restrain my urges to start right away. Their time would come, for now I needed to listen and learn.

Soon I learned Alfie Parsons was giving the orders and was the son of the old man. He must love the sound of his voice as he never stopped talking. He went on and on about how great he and his father are, and how they would soon own the entire area. It would be a pleasure to kill him and stop the verbal diarrhea that never stopped spewing from his mouth.

Alfie kept talking about Nancy Collins, a woman he was obsessed with, and would soon be his wife. According to him she was the most beautiful woman in the West. Listening to his twisted mind, the only reason she wasn't his already was because her father forbade it. I thought to myself maybe because you are a self absorbed arrogant little bitch.