The Last Ride of Caleb O'Toole (7 page)

Push harder!” yelled Caleb as he rammed his shoulder into the right rear wheel of the buckboard. Julie leaned into the other wheel, but try as they could, they were stuck smack in the middle of a flash flood. The rain had beaten them steadily for two days since they left the Whitticker farm some thirty miles behind. Trying to cross the river earlier that morning to the small grove of trees just north of them had proved a mistake. Now they were at the mercy of a terrible summer storm. To the south, a massive tornado was bearing down on them. Caleb had to scream above the great roar of the giant black funnel. Several other smaller ones that never touched down brought torrents of rain. There seemed nowhere to hide, the landscape was so flat. Water, mud, and rocky debris from the flood cascaded all around them. Most of their supplies had washed down the river, and Caleb and Julie fought desperately to save what remained. Tumble had nearly drowned, fighting against the sudden rise of the Platte River. Now he sat shivering in the buckboard, howling, exhausted as the screaming black tornado carved up the prairie. “It's no use, Caleb!” Julie slumped against the wheel. Perhaps a hundred yards away, there was a rise of earth that led to a rocky outcropping. It was their only hope. The giant funnel cloud tore a path directly toward them.

“Dusty! Ya!” Dusty pulled mightily but the wagon wouldn't budge. “I'll get the black!” Caleb stood in the wagon and grabbed the rope that held the stallion. Desperately, he pulled the big horse closer. Caleb silently punished himself. He should have seen this coming, but flash floods happened so fast on the prairie. He still had his Sharps and the large heavy box that held tools and a few remaining trinkets of their past. They also had their father's maps and Aunt Sarah's letter, but their blankets had washed away along with their food and their clothes.

Carefully, Caleb mounted the huge black horse.
Lord, he is big
, thought Caleb. Dusty was big too, and Caleb could ride him for all his worth. But this one fit the likes of Henderson. The horse seemed to know he was being given a task, for he let Caleb guide him to the side of the wagon. Together, he and Julie helped the wounded Henderson onto the black. Barely able to hold himself up, Henderson slumped forward in the saddle, arms around his horse. Then Caleb got on as Julie handed him the reins. Slowly, the powerful horse fought against the current until they were safely on the bank of the rocky rise. He tried to ease the big man off the stallion, but the gunfighter was too heavy for him and they both crashed to the ground. Henderson painfully rolled to his side and began to drag himself to the shelter of the rocks. Caleb grabbed the reins of the powerful horse and pulled himself up. He then scrambled back up onto the saddle and went back for Tilly. He brought the black to the rear of the wagon and jumped aboard, gathering his terrified little sister in his arms. Tilly held tightly to Caleb's neck as he placed her on the saddle of the stallion. He swung his leg up and settled in behind her, grabbing her tight with his free hand and reaching for the reins with his other. Slowly, they made their way to the riverbank. He jumped off the horse and carefully pulled Tilly to him. Then he took her to the shelter of the rocks and laid her down by Henderson. Caleb then rode back to the wagon and fished out the long rope he had packed in the big tool chest. He tied it to Dusty's harness, mounted the black, and tied the other end of the rope to the saddle horn.

“Ya, boy! Go!” The huge horse dug into the river rock, the muscles on his wet flank bulging. The tornado, just a half-mile away, advanced in a deafening roar, its black and silver funnel bent and twisted as it tore up the Nebraska plain. Sheets of rain pelted them mercilessly.

“Dusty! Come on!” yelled Julie as she took hold of the reins and gave Dusty his command. “Ya!”

Finally the wagon lurched forward. Caleb and Julie, working as a team, managed to pull the wagon back around. Then as quickly as the tornado came, it vanished. Not two hundred yards away, the funnel cloud began to draw back into the black sky. They were spared. As they pulled out of the muddy overflow of the river, water cascaded from the wagon. Then lo and behold, two fish flipped and flopped from the buckboard and landed next to Julie. She dove quickly for the fish.

“Well,” said Julie as she scrambled for the fish. “We've got supper!”

***

The campfire lit up the rocks around them as they roasted the two trout on sticks. Their shelter had proven to be a real find. The craggy stones above them kept the wind and rain away and there was enough room so they could all lay down on the hard-packed dirt. They were dry. Pieces of charred wood lay scattered about, evidence of pioneers or Indians past, who must have sought refuge in the cavelike structure. Still, there was enough good wood to build a fire. It was fortunate they still had matches in a tightly sealed jar in the tool chest. The rain continued to fall. Lightning flashed in the distance. Caleb shook his head silently at the new state they found themselves in. It was a pretty hopeless one. He knew it was probably not a good idea to keep the fire going too long. He didn't want to attract attention. But tired and wet as they were, and powerfully hungry, he figured it was better to risk it. They had to shed most of the clothes on their backs to dry them by the fire. Tilly lay next to Tumble for warmth. Julie took one of the trout and offered it to her, but she refused it.

“She won't eat, Caleb.” Julie drew Tilly to her. It wasn't like Tilly to not eat. Something had to be wrong. Tilly cried softly in Julie's arms. “Want to hear a story, Tilly? Once upon a time?”

“No,” Tilly whimpered as she reached for the chain still around her neck. She opened the locket and looked at the only remaining picture of their parents.

“I'll check on Dusty and the black,” said Caleb sadly as he took a last bite of fish. “Save some of the trout for Henderson in case he wakes up.” He leaned over to Tilly and kissed her cheek. “She's still got a fever.”

“I know. I'm worried, Caleb.” Tears glistened in Julie's eyes.

***

Caleb stood in the rain outside the rock shelter a short distance from the campfire. He felt like crying himself, but vowed to stay strong. Strong like a tree, his mother said. After all, what good would crying do?

The flood seemed to be slowing. Dusty and the black seemed no worse for wear with their thick hides. He figured they were about sixty or seventy miles west of Dobytown. Already, they had been through more dangers than they ever could have imagined. What else would lie ahead? With no money, no supplies, and Henderson close to death, they were hamstrung. It was hard to know what to do. He couldn't just leave him to die. If they came upon a town and handed him over to a doctor, it would only be a matter of time before the law or the Blackstones caught up with him. And then there was their own trouble with the Blackstones. They would keep coming for them, he knew. Caleb hoped that if they could somehow shake them off their trail and make it to Montana, they would be safe. He took the saddle and blanket off the black. Then he slung the black leather saddlebags over his shoulder and hoisted Henderson's heavy Spencer rifle.

Caleb headed back to the fire and sat down. He checked the rifle and placed it and the saddlebags next to the boulder beside him. Julie's eyes were closed from exhaustion. Tilly was curled up in her sister's arms, staring at her locket. Something about her breathing worried Caleb. He shivered and threw another half-burned log on the fire to help stave off the chill of summer rain. Caleb eyed Henderson's saddlebags. Curious, he reached over and loosened the leather strap. He fished around inside the bag and pulled out a metal object. He held the piece of metal toward the fire to see.

“Man could get himself killed for that.” Henderson stirred weakly. He reached his hand out. “You want to give me some of that fish?”

Caleb tore off a piece of trout and handed it to him. “I wasn't going to take it. I mean, I was just looking to see if there was anything we could use. I took the saddle off the black and I brought your rifle and the bags in to dry.”

“Name's Pride.”

“Pride?” asked Caleb, not sure what the man was talking about.

“My horse.” Henderson gnawed on the fish weakly and gazed out at the night rain. “Been with me for years. Fought in the war together. Nebraska Volunteers. I was a scout all along the Platte River Road. Been stuck in these same rocks fighting the Sioux years ago. Thought I was dreaming. And that thing you're holding I should have thrown away, as much good as it does.”

“What is it?” Caleb turned the piece of metal over in his hand.

“Medal of Honor. Awarded by President Abraham Lincoln himself.” Henderson managed a bitter laugh. “They took everything I had after the war. Sent me to Fort Leavenworth prison. Got out a few weeks ago. At least I got my Pride back,” Henderson said with a painful chuckle. “And my medal.”

“You killed some Union soldiers,” said Caleb warily. “I read about it.”

“They were Redlegs. Red-booted soldiers who stood against slavery but then turned into murderers and thieves. They went around the countryside, robbing and killing folks in the name of the war.” The firelight revealed a deep hate in Henderson's eyes.

“Jayhawkers,” said Caleb. “Weren't they called that too?”

“That's right,” said Henderson in a deadly whisper. “They killed my wife and baby. Burned our house to the ground. Seven of 'em. After the war, I caught up with three.” He reached into the pocket of his tattered shirt and pulled out a beautiful necklace. A gold locket sparkled in the firelight. With excruciating sadness, he held it to his chest. “This is all I have left.”

“Quick Creek. I remember the story. They say you were a hero during the war but then you went crazy.”

“Well, they got the crazy part. I don't figure to get my mind right until I get the other four. They're out there somewhere. If I make it out of this mess, I'll find 'em,” Henderson said as he coughed up some blood.

“I want to see,” Tilly said weakly. She held out her hand to Henderson. The gunman painfully reached for her and gave her the necklace. Tilly took it and popped open the tiny locket. “They're in heaven with Mommy and Daddy.” Tilly handed her own necklace to Henderson. “See?”

Henderson looked long at the pictures of the O'Tooles. Tilly crawled weakly next to the big man and nestled into him. Caleb watched the war hero turned gunfighter grow tense at the first touch of his sister. Then he seemed to slowly soften as he let little Tilly snuggle in. Together they looked at the pictures in the firelight.

“You have to wear it over your heart,” said Tilly as she tried to put Henderson's necklace over his head.

“Don't fit. That's why I keep it here in my pocket. Still over my heart. See?” Henderson noticed the sadness written on Caleb's face. “What happened to your kin?”

“It was cholera,” explained Caleb.

“How long?”

“Three weeks ago…I think,” said Julie, her voice catching with the memory. “Come, Tilly. Caleb, if you can take the first watch, I'll wake you. She needs to sleep.” Julie gathered her sister in her arms as Tilly held her hand out to Henderson. Carefully, he placed the locket in her hand, and then pocketed his own necklace and closed his eyes.

“What was it like?” Caleb asked the gunfighter warily. “Prison, I mean.”

Henderson lay staring out at the night as the fire crackled beside them. For the longest time, he said nothing. “You don't ever want to know, kid.” He reached for a stick that lay nearby and tossed it on the fire. “Leavenworth wasn't so bad after what they did to me at Fort Scott. At Scott, I took the whip on my back too many times. Kept me chained to an iron ball. Then they transferred me to Fort Leavenworth about five years back and some laws stopped that kind of thing. Instead, they put me in a hole. Solitary confinement, they called it. No windows. Didn't see the sun for years.”

“How did you get out?” asked Caleb

“An old friend found one of the Redlegs that was around that night in Quick Creek. Made him confess. The Army didn't want to, but they had to let me go.” Henderson closed his eyes and let out a big sigh.

Caleb figured he had gotten about all he could out of Henderson. He reached for his Sharps and shoved a bullet into his teeth. His senses were alive as he surveyed the prairie. The rain had let up and a piece of the moon was peeking out from the clouds. As quickly as the flood had appeared, it had vanished to a trickle.

“Boy? Give me your rifle.” Caleb handed Henderson the Sharps warily. “Cartridges,” commanded Henderson as he took the rifle. Caleb handed him the bullets and watched as the bloodied man painfully held the rifle in his left hand. “Take that one out of your mouth and watch.” Henderson inserted a bullet in the webbing between each finger of his right hand. He pulled back the hammer of the big Sharps and slammed a shell into the breech. Then he pretended to do the action again and again, pulling back the hammer and cramming another shell from the webbing of his fingers.