Rocy Raccoon

I decided not to travel south when I left Memphis. Instead, I took the ferry across the river and rode through Arkansas. It was a place I'd never seen and it was basically on the way. The best I can describe the state is that it was raw and muddy. The people had a lot of energy and worked hard for the most part, but the place seemed a magnet for outlaws.

I was accosted twice as I traveled across the state. One was a minor shooting scrape where no one got killed, although I did plug a couple of them. They returned the favor by giving me a new scar across the right side of my chest, a bullet burn from what I later learned was a 50/90 Sharps, just about the most powerful rifle in the country. Half an inch farther in and I would have been blown out of the saddle. They dropped it and I decided to keep it as a souvenir.

The second time looked like it would end badly for me. They hadn't caught me unaware, but they came pretty close. As it was, I couldn't get to my Winchester so I faced them with a pair of Smith & Wessons. There were seven facing me and I could see a few more moving about in the brush.

The leader sat his horse and grinned. "Give it up pilgrim. You ain't got a chance. Turn loose of those shooters and we'll let you walk away. We'll take everything, but at least you won't be dead."

My pistols never wavered. "You'll forgive me if I have a hard time believing that. You got me for sure, but just so you know I'll only be shooting at you when the ball starts. I suggest you try a softer target somewhere else."

His eyes tightened but his grin never wavered. "Nope. We watched you last night when you paid for your room. You turned around and kind of hunched over, a sure sign of a money belt. As well set up as you are, I bet the belt isn't for show. Now give it up or we start shooting. I'd hate to get blood on that money."

I sighed. Here it was. The last thing I ever expected was to be gunned down in a pine thicket on the back side of Arkansas. It was what it was. I decided to open the ball but before I could reach a deep rumbling voice came out of the brush.

"Ever'body just stand still. Taylor, don't count on your boys out here. They're a mite indisposed at the moment. I need you boys to put your hands up. You too, stranger. I'd feel loads better if ya'll had your hands as far away from your weapons as possible."

To his credit, Taylor didn't flinch. "That you, Bass?"

"It is."

"Well it looks like you finally caught up with me. You got to admit I led you on a pretty good chase. The thing is, Bass, you and me both know if me and my boys give up these guns Parker will hang us sure. There's still a lot more of us than there are you, so I think I'll take my chances."

After he said that he slid from the saddle. he didn't jump, it was more like he just collapsed and it caught us by surprise. I think my bullet and the one from the man in the brush went by each other over an empty saddle.

I jumped behind the log I'd been sitting on when it started and felt the slugs slam into it. I scooted down to the end and peeked out. A large black man was standing in the clearing with a pistol in his hand, selecting targets like it was a gallery. A man behind him raised a rifle and my bullet center punched him, sending him flying backwards. The man didn't even look around as he kept firing. Another outlaw screamed and stood up, an arrow sticking out of his belly. The firing kept on for a couple of minutes and then just stopped. We could hear the thudding of the hooves as four got away. Three were dead, including the one I'd nailed, and three were wounded. One was gutshot, and we knew he wouldn't make the night.

The other two had non-life-threatening wounds. Taylor had been shot through the right forearm, breaking both bones and rendering his shooting hand useless. I looked at the entry wound and figured the trajectory and knew it came from my gun. The other man had been hit in the shoulder and it broke his collar bone.

The black man stepped forward and I stood up, catching the glimpse of the star on his chest in the evening sun. I knew who he was, but he introduced himself anyway.

"Bass Reeves, U.S. Marshall."

I shook his hand. "Rocky McGill, of the Dakota Territory. I'm most pleased to meet you."

He grinned, speaking in the tongue of my tribe. "Greetings, Northern Sun. Your tribe speaks highly of you."

I had found out the tribe had changed my name while I was gone. Dark Horse explained it to me. "You always come from the North, the sun reflecting off your hair. It seemed fitting."

"They speak of your fairness as well, Dark Warrior."

That was his name. They had never seen a black man so adept at weapons or so fearless.

His Indian friend appeared out of the gathering darkness, speaking to Bass in a language with which I was not familiar. "This is Antonio, of the Cherokee Tribal Police. He's been my companion on this journey. Most of the crimes Taylor and his gang committed are against his people. He helped me track them down."

I greeted him, he nodded and disappeared into the brush. Bass smiled. "He'll watch to make sure their friends don't return. I doubt they will, but better safe than sorry."

We doctored as best we could on the two men, fed them supper and tied them up for the night. Everyone from Texas to Colorado had heard of Bass Reeves, the black U.S. Marshall appointed by Judge Parker. His arrest rate was the best of all the deputies, and he was like a bloodhound on your trail. Most times he worked alone or with one Indian from different tribes, and he would go up against five as quick as he would one.

I traveled with him the three days it took us to reach Fort Smith. He turned over his prisoners along with their warrants, got a new set of papers, and was gone by the afternoon. I met Judge Parker at a reception that night and he spoke highly of his deputy. "He's the best I ever had. If it weren't for his race, he'd be my Chief Deputy. Despite his color I once offered him the job and he turned me down, saying he'd better serve me out hunting down criminals than he would be in an office shuffling papers. I had to agree."

I stayed two days in the town, long enough to see Taylor and his friend hanging from the gallows as I left. Justice was swift and certain with Judge Parker at the helm.

*****

I rode out of the Indian Territory into Texas, anxious to see my family. I'd had a nagging feeling for a few days, my mind trying to tell me something wasn't right. It hit me what it was two days before I was to reach the village. I'd seen no sign of my people and there should have been plenty this close to camp. Maybe they moved it. It sometimes happened, but this had been their favorite spot, good graze, plenty of water, good ridges to keep lookout for enemies. Something wasn't right.

I crested a ridge ten miles from the village to see Skunk, Dark Horse, Walks Slowly and two braves whose names escaped me waiting for me. My heart went cold when I saw none of them were smiling. Skunk rode forward.

"Rocky, mon ami, I have bad news. You cannot go to the village. No one can."

"Why?"

"Because there is no more village. Everyone is gone."

"Where did they go?" I was figuring they got attacked by a superior force and were scattered, but Doe Eyes was too wily a Peace Chief to let that happen.

Skunk had tears in his eyes. "They died, Rocky. Everyone in the village. Smallpox broke out and it killed them all. I was down with one of my fits and when I woke up, I was in my tipi with my wives. One was still alive and she told me what happened. Comancheros had come, wanting trade. We were low on a few things so we rode out and made some purchases. Three of the braves bought brightly colored blankets for their wives. They practically gave them to us. On the way back my horse shied at a snake and bucked me off. I landed on my head and was out for ten days. When I woke up it was too late."

"Why didn't you die?"

He pulled his hair back and I could see the pockmarks on his forehead. "It's worse on my face. It's why I keep my beard. I had it as a child and I survived, so I'm immune. The tribe was susceptible and it spread within two days."

"Doe Eyes? Smiles? All my children?"

"Everybody, Rocky. Everyone but me. If I'd been awake, I would have recognized the signs and we might have saved some, but by the time I woke up there was maybe ten or twelve still alive and they went quick."

"I have to see."

"Don't! It's been a month, so there's nothing to see. I couldn't give everyone the funeral they deserved so I made pyres and burned everyone. I burned everything in the village and made black flags. The People will never use that space again."

I put the spurs to the gray I'd bought while I was in Memphis and he jumped before taking off like a runaway train. I could hear the shouts of my friends fading as I galloped. It took me two hours to top the rise over the village, and by then my anguish had calmed a little. I drew up and looked down on the desolation. Everything was black and burned, little lumps of tipis remained here and there. The prairie was already starting to reclaim the village and I knew this time next year all that would be left were some grass covered lumps.

Guilt consumed me and I cried like a baby. I should have made them leave earlier. I should have returned sooner. I should have done a million little things, but in the end, I knew none of it would have mattered. Dark Horse trotted up beside me, making it a point to look everywhere but the village.

"The only reason the rest of us are still alive is because Doe Eyes brokered a peace between us and Bluebird's village. We were there visiting her family and making plans for mutual defense. The white man is moving in, Brother, and we wanted to be able to defend our land.

When we came back, we met Skunk and he warned us to stay away from the village and him. We dropped what food we had and returned to the other village where we got Skunk new clothes. He had us build him a sweat lodge and spent a couple of days purifying himself before he took the new clothes and joined us. I had a little of the gold you gave us left and he went to the nearest town and bought new weapons."

He paused, uncertain. "Spit it out my brother. What else are you not telling me?"

"Skunk heard some talk while he was there. He seems to think the blankets were deliberately given to the tribe to purposely wipe us out. It's a lot easier to claim land no one is living on than going to war. Some of the men wanting the land arranged for the blankets to be brought and got together enough smallpox survivors to deliver them."

I reeled at the news. There had been close to three hundred people in the village. All killed for a patch of land? My thoughts centered and my mind became focused. I'd find and kill everyone involved. I would show no mercy. Dark Horse must have been reading my mind.

"We know where they are. They have a little ranch down in Mexico from which they operate. The only thing stopping us was waiting on your arrival."

He left me alone then, and I sat on the ridge as the moon came up, casting a pale glow over the remains of the camp. I closed my eyes, listening to the children shout and play, and Doe Eyes murmuring softly as she laid me in our robes before rubbing her body all over me. I felt Smile's tongue as she licked my body, working slowly downwards. I shook my head, and it seemed I could hear the wails of grief as one after another succumbed to the plague the Comancheros had brought among them. I could hear my children calling my name, begging me to come and save them, and the sad whispered goodbyes as Doe Eyes and Smiles breathed their last.

I was still sitting there when Skunk rode up the next morning. "Rest," he said gently. Then he took a more forceful tone. "And when you wake up, we'll wait while you put your paint on. Then we ride!"

They woke me up in the early afternoon and fed me. I had no idea what I ate, I just knew I had to maintain my strength. Then we held a war council.

There were five of us, and we had no idea how many we faced. After some discussion, one of the braves I barely knew, Tall Dog, volunteered to ride ahead and scout. If he was caught, he'd say he was running from the white man and they would probably let him go.

We rode South, as well, angling for a little town. Skunk and I rode in, hitting the dry goods store for supplies. He had a selection of weapons and I purchased a ten gauge with double barrels and a Yellow Boy that was beat up some, but still had a good firm action.

I walked down the street to the gun shop. I bought four more double barrels in twelve gauge, an old Henry he had reworked until it felt and worked like new, and two more Winchesters. I'd been traveling through he area for years, so I was known. I told the gunsmith I'd gotten word from the men bringing up my last herd that they'd gotten caught in a flash flood and had lost the chuckwagon and most of their gear, so I was getting what I could to bring to them. He bought it and offered advice about ammunition before showing me a rifle he'd had a while. "It's a Mauser in 11mm. That's just a hair less than a .45. This is the sniper version. It has a longer barrel, better sights and can hold five rounds. With a little practice you can reach a long way." He told me the optimum range was 1600 meters. That's a little better than 1700 yards. "I got it from a German over for an adventure until he ran into some cardsharks who took everything him and his group had. They tried to fight and got killed, all but two men. They sold this and some other stuff to me just to get traveling money. A shame, really, they were pretty decent folks until they ran into Bradshaw and his bunch."

The hairs rose on the back of my neck and I asked the gunsmith to describe this Bradshaw. "Pretty big feller. He dressed like a dandy, but was hell on wheels in a fist fight. He beat two of the Germans to death on his own, at the same time. Had a blond with him. She was a pretty decent looking woman in the lamplight, but in the light of day she had that 'rode hard put up wet' look to her. Know what I mean?"

I did.

I bought the rifle and was out the door when he called for me to hold up. He came out holding what looked like a long knife but it turned out to be a bayonet that went with the rifle. "It goes with the gun and I got no use for it. I doubt you do but it will look wicked hanging over a mantle. Luck to you mister."

*****

It was a well-armed band of Indians that splashed across the Rio Grande three weeks later. Skunk was so taken with the rifle I knew I'd never get it back, and he'd shoot a few rounds every chance he got, going for longer distances as he got better until he was shooting at targets I couldn't even see. My Indian companions started talking about it like it was alive, hoping it would help us on our quest. Walks Badly had gone ahead and he met us a day later.

We brewed coffee and made plans. "There's twenty-two on a regular basis, with more floating in and out. They seem to move a load at least once a week, and it's usually five or six wagons and ten men. We'll be there day after tomorrow, and a load left day before yesterday. I rode a lot faster, but they'll be cresting that ridge in about two hours. It is my thought we destroy them here and improve our odds at the ranch."

It was a good plan so we lay in wait. The plan was to let them get almost by us before we attacked, Dark Horse and myself on one side, Limps Badly and the other brave on the other, with Skunk keeping overwatch just over the crest of a small hill in case some tried to get away. He was going to take the first shot to distract them, and then we'd open up. Walks Badly said about half had Winchesters and the rest had a collection of single shot rifles, Sharps predominantly.

We were in no mood to play fair and intended to open up with the shotguns, then go to the pistols. I had my two S&W's on my hips and the snub-nose under my belt. The rest had an assortment of Peacemakers, Remingtons and one more S&W.

They weren't pilgrims and had a scout about half a mile ahead checking for sign. Dark Horse rose up, put an arrow in his brisket and was on him before he could hit the ground, knife in hand. He was still gurgling when we broke cover to drag him out of sight. Dark Horse took his shirt and horse, sitting on a hill and waving them forward before dropping out of sight.

They must have been concentrating on the trail, because we weren't more than twenty feet from them when we rose up. My first shot took a driver and his companion off their seat. The second hit a rider and I dropped the scattergun, pulling both pistols. Seven died instantly and the rest fell before they could get off more than two shots. One was only slightly wounded and they brought him to me.

I had started a fire under a pretty decent oak, and when it was roaring, I had him hoisted up feet first. He was over the fire and had to feel the heat. He'd lost his sombrero and his bald head was slick with sweat. I grabbed him by the ears. "You got one chance. You tell us what we want to know and we kill you quick. You don't, then we roast your brains a little at a time. I hear it hurts like hell and you lose your voice from screaming pretty quick. I've only seen it done one time and they controlled the fire and his contact. The man lasted four hours but I'm pretty sure he was out of his mind after the first hour. At the end they'd swing him back and forth through the flames until he finally stopped jerking. Then they walked off and left him. Awfullest stink I've ever smelled. Now then, you wanna go out fast or slow?"

He had sand but it wasn't ten minutes until his cussing turned into begging. We kept him over the fire another ten minutes just to get his attention. When we cut him down his scalp was just a huge mass of blisters. Walks Badly amused himself by lancing them with a dull knife.

We gave him a cold drink of water and told him to start talking. At first, he denied they knew anything about the infected blankets, but when we started hoisting him again he suddenly remembered. "Some guy named Dan brought them to us. Five of us had had smallpox when we were little, so we were chosen to go to the village. We had our orders. Some man named Willis, Williams, something like that was the man behind it. He gave us all a hundred apiece to do it."

I had him describe the men, and knew it was Bradshaw and a land speculator by the name of Bret Wilson. When we got all we could out of him, we hoisted hm back up. He started screaming. "I thought you were going to make it quick!"

Skunk grinned but it looked like a death mask to me. "Oh we are, mon ami. We're going to put you right over the fire. You shouldn't last over ten minutes."

We rode away to him still twitching and jerking, his face a charred mess and his clothes on fire. Four arrows were in his gut, the sign of our tribe on them. If anyone found him, they'd get the message.

*****

I looked through the spyglass before passing it on to Dark Horse and he gave it to Skunk.

As near as we could tell there were eight men, four women and five kids on the ranch, and we decided to hit them just as they were sitting down to supper. Dark Horse took the hat and coat from one of the Comancheros and rode the man's horse down from the ridge. We were already in position and were waiting. They were smart enough to put out sentries, but we'd found them. One went easy but the other put up a good scrap, trying to yank his piece the whole time. I knocked him cold with a right cross and Skunk finished him with a knife across the throat.

Skunk was up on the ridge, the big Mauser tracking a target. The place was no shack, a board house with windows and a wraparound porch. They were open with the curtains drawn back. Foolish, but most people feel relaxed when they're home. Skunk drew a bead at the man who sat at the head of the table and blew his brains out right when he was reaching for a biscuit.