Chapter 4

The Hobart wagon train was four days west of Amarillo and young Josh Kelly was scouting ahead for the best route, water holes, and a good spot to camp for the night. He had been doing the same thing for the last 40 days as the train made its way from Fort Smith through Oklahoma City and Amarillo toward Santa Fe. Hobart had shown a lot of faith in the 18 year old, giving him more and more responsibilities and the boy had blossomed into a very capable young man.

The time Josh spent with Johnny Burrows, an old mountain man and a friend of Hobart's, had taught him a lot. Josh had learned skills that would help him survive in this wild country and on his journey; he put those skills to good use every day.

As he rode he read one of letters from his folks back in Missouri. He had found the four letters waiting for him at the post office in Amarillo. He had gone to the telegraph office to send his parents a short telegram; he had been doing that in every major town the wagon trail passed through since he left home. Josh's telegrams home were short but gave his parents information on his journey. A typical telegram read:

Am doing well. In Amarillo headed to Santa Fe tomorrow. More later. Letters to follow.

Love

Josh.

Josh was surprised that there was a telegram waiting for him; it was from his Pa. It was short and to the point; his Pa, Ma, and little brother Samuel were fine and don't worry about them. The telegram also said that the family had sent some letters to him in care of the post office there in Amarillo. Finally they wished him a belated happy birthday. He had turned 18 while on the trail from Fort Smith.

Josh decided to wait to send his telegram and make sure the letters were at the post office. After picking up the letters from his family he mailed the ones to his parents that he had written at night while on the trail. His letters explained about his life and adventures with the wagon train in greater detail than he could with the more expensive telegrams. Going back to the telegraph office, he sent a short wire to his parents letting them know that he was okay and where he was; he also told them that he had received their letters.

In their first letter Josh got more details about his family; they were in good health and his younger brother Samuel had volunteered and taken on more responsibility on the farm with Josh gone. He was growing into a fine young man. The letter contained all the gossip about the little community in Missouri. He read that his uncles, Jake and Simon, and their families were well.

Josh finished the first letter and put it back into his saddle bag; he would read it again later. He found a good spot for the wagon train to camp that night; it had good water for the stock and plenty of open area for the wagons in their defensive circle. Looking at the sun still high in the sky, he figured the wagons could get to the camp site before dusk and have enough time to set up their camp.

He turned his horse Joey around toward the oncoming wagons and started back to report to Mr. Hobart, the wagon master. It would take him nearly an hour to get back and then another three to four hours for the train to make it to the water hole.

Normally he would have continued scouting the trail further on for the next day's travel but he was uneasy. He had crossed the trail of 20 or so horses just before finding the camp spot. They were headed a little southwest but circling and he wasn't sure of who or what they were.

Josh had good instincts for this wild country and the lessons taught to him by Johnny Burrows warned him to be on guard. What you didn't know could bite you in the ass is the way Johnny put it. So he decided to head back to the wagons early. He would tell Mr. Hobart the location and time to the camp site and inform him about the unknown riders.

Arriving back at the wagons, he told the lead wagon driver the directions to the water hole. Before talking to Hobart, Josh went to the remuda and changed horses. Joey had been traveling since before sunup and deserved a rest: and Josh wanted a fresh horse for his next chore. He changed his saddle and tack to Diablo, the horse that Hobart had given him after Josh had retrained the big bay.

Diablo was a good mix of fast and strong and Josh planned to head back down the trail as an outrider to scout and guard the wagon train until they made camp. He found Hobart sitting on the tail gate of the last wagon in line, chewing on a piece of cold fried chicken. He laughed a little self consciously when he saw Josh.

"Being the boss means you sometimes get special treatment, don't you know," Hobart explained to Josh with a big grin. "I missed breakfast and I'm gettin too old to go all day without something in my belly and Mrs. Randle was kind enough to offer me a piece of fried chicken."

"Don't have to convince me, Mr. Hobart. I took some of the smoked buffalo with me this morning when I rode out," Josh responded smiling back at the wagon master. "Of course I didn't have a pretty woman give it to me." Then in a more serious tone said, "Saw something you should know about sir."

Hobart could see that his young scout was worried. He got off the wagon untied his horse and joined Josh. "What's on your mind son?"

"I saw tracks of about 20 horses crossing our trail headed a little southwest. Remember Red saw a similar trail just outside of Amarillo and I'm wonderin if it's the same group," Josh answered.

"We'll send out a rider to follow them a ways when we get there."

"I got a funny feeling about this Mr. Hobart. Nothing to base it on except that I find it strange that the two trails show sign of the same number of animals," Josh admitted. "And they seem to be circling back toward the northwest."

As Josh mounted Diablo and rode back toward the waterhole, his friend Red McCall caught up with him about a mile out from the wagons. "I'm going with you Josh. And before you say anything I got permission from Mr. Hobart. He said if we found something wrong one of us can ride back and warn him."

Josh smiled; he knew he could depend on the young Texan to do what had to be done in a dangerous situation. Besides, he welcomed the company and two scouts were better than one in this big country. About an hour's ride before they got to the camp site, they started to ride in a circle to the southwest searching for the trail that Josh had seen.

They had gone five miles or so when they found the horse tracks and decided to follow them for a ways. A few more miles and they saw smoke rising into the sky from behind a small hill. Josh and Red walked their mounts to the base of the hill and dismounted. Red looped his reins over the horn of the saddle on Diablo; Josh had trained the big horse to ground tie, he wouldn't move away as long as the reins were hanging down and Red's mount would also stay put.

The two young men slowly made their way to the crest of the hill, took off their Stetson's and carefully looked over the top. There below them was a camp with about 20 men sitting around two or three smoky campfires. The men had a rough appearance; unshaven and dirty looking. Some were wearing the butter nut brown trousers of the Confederacy and others wore gray pants with the yellow stripe of the Confederate cavalry.

Josh didn't think that these men were a detachment of Confederate soldiers or cavalry. He believed that they were a band of raiders pretending to be a Confederate troop; very much like the ones that had attacked the wagon train after it left Oklahoma City.

One of the men drew his attention as he strode across the camp giving orders to the others. Watching the man, Josh knew he was right about them being raiders. He had seen this man leading a pack like this one before back home in Missouri.

I'll be damned, Josh thought; that's John Fogerty and what's left of The Bushwhackers. There had been more than 40 men the last time Josh had seen the gang. He wondered what happened to the rest of them and what they were doing so far west and south. No time for reminiscing now, we need to get back and alert Mr. Hobart and the wagon train, he told himself. He motioned to Red and they snuck back down the hill and mounted their horses.

They walked their horses until they got far enough away and then pushed them into a lope. Back on the main trail they stopped to let the animals rest for a few minutes and discuss the situation.

"Red, you ain't gonna believe it when I tell you who them guys are. Remember I told you I had to leave home because of The Bushwhackers? Well that's them."

"You sure Josh?"

"I wasn't until I saw that guy giving orders and strutting around the camp. That was John Fogerty himself; he's the one my Pa threatened to kill if he ever came back to our farm. C'mon, we need to warn Mr. Hobart."

The youngsters started to ride again, alternating between a lope and a fast walk to make it easier for the horses. Coming up on the first wagon they saw Hobart riding beside it and rode over to meet him. Josh explained what they saw and waited for orders from the wagon master.

"There any chance they're just riding through, Josh?"

"Maybe Mr. Hobart; I couldn't hear if they know about us or not. But they might see the smoke from our fires tonight and then they'll know about us for sure," Josh replied. "Not that it makes a difference but that's Fogerty and his Bushwhackers out there," he informed Hobart.

"The one's that drove you away from home? You're right Josh, it don't matter but it sure do piss me off. Well let's get to that water hole and set up the wagons before dark. Those bastards are gonna find out they poked a sleeping bear if they attack us. We've got some experience now and there's not as many of them as the first raid." Hobart said with a tight little smile.

Josh and Red went on point way out in front of the wagons. They took young Jerry Barnes with them mounting him on the very fast quarter horse mare that Red sometimes rode. Jerry had shown he could keep his head and they would send him back at a run if the raiders came at them; that would give the wagons the time to circle up.

The wagon train made it to the water hole without being attacked or even spotted as far as Josh could tell. Hobart circled the wagons with the large water hole on one side; that would keep the raiders on only three sides if they attacked. He also put some wagons across the center of the circle with three men in them; if any of the raiders got inside the circle this would prevent them from shooting from one side to the other.

Hobart doubled up the guards, placing men at intervals along the outside of the circle including overlooking the water hole. Josh planned to take the second shift at guard but he was going to be on horseback outside of the circled wagons. Red would be out there with him, both men felt they could be of more use as outriders. They could provide a warning if the raiders came around and then harass the gang from the flanks.

Josh had already taken a nap to ready himself for his evening patrol and still had a couple of hours before leaving on the scouting trip so he read the second letter from his family. Josh learned that Mr. Reece and his Cheyenne wife Mali, the couple that had taught him about horses, decided they'd had enough of the raids and killings surrounding the war; they packed up and went to live with her people in eastern Wyoming. Mr. Reece always did seem a mite put out by all the people in the area Josh thought.

His father said that the raids by both sides were increasing and the people in their area were fighting back. Uncle Simon's place was attacked but his Uncle Jake, Pa, and a few others came up behind the raiders and caught them in a cross fire. There were 18 bodies left behind when Fogerty and the Bushwhackers ran; like dogs with their tails between their legs is the way Pa described it. Fogerty and his men were last seen riding hard toward the southwest; no one's heard of them since.

And no, you can't come home yet his Pa had written; there were still other raiders and armies looking for young men. The rest of the letter was about his Ma and Samuel his younger brother. Everyone was well and they were praying for the day that he could come home. Josh wiped the tears in his eyes and realized that in spite of the adventures and the friends he had made and all the excitement, he was homesick.

As Josh was getting Diablo ready for their turn at guard duty, Hobart came over to him and asked, "You wanna take that quarter horse stallion of mine instead of Diablo? He's not as big as your horse but he's lightning fast for over two miles. You could get back here quicker if something blows up on you out there."

"No sir, but thanks for the offer," Josh answered. Hobart looked puzzled so Josh continued, "I'm gonna be out there until almost first light; that stallion of yours is very fast but not after riding two or three mile sweeps all night long. Diablo is a mite slower but he'll be just as fast after four or five hours as he was when he started. Besides, I trained my buddy here and I know what he can do."

"Makes sense. One last thing Josh," Hobart said and waited until the young man turned to face him. "Don't go tryin to get some kind of revenge on them fellers. There's more at stake here than you makin them pay for running you away from home. Hear me boy?"

"Tryin to be a hero is a good way to get dead. Johnny Burrows taught me that," Josh said with a grin. "I plan to keep takin your money all the way to Santa Fe, Mr. Hobart."

"Don't worry Mr. Hobart, I'll keep an eye on him," Red said laughing.

"Yeah, but whose gonna keep an eye on you? You're as bad as he is." Hobart smiled at both of his young outriders. "Seriously boys, at the first sign of them, skedaddle back here."

Josh and Red nodded at the wagon master and walked their mounts between two wagons and started their patrol. As they walked their horses away from the wagons, they talked about their plan. Getting about two miles from the wagons, Josh would ride east about a mile and turn south; Red would ride west for the same distance and also turn south.

Then they would ride sweeps back and forth across the path that the raiders would most likely take. The two men would be out of sight of each other and the only warning of trouble would be gun shots. If either of them heard gun fire they would ride like hell for the wagons. One more gun against the 20 or so raiders wouldn't make much difference but the warning to the wagon train could save lives. Hopefully one of them would spot the raiders and get back without a pitched battle.

Josh rode his part of the search area looking for tracks or trying to spot movement. As he rode he surveyed the land, checking on hiding places and possible routes back to the wagons. The land wasn't quite a desert but the only vegetation was a lot of scrub bushes, a few cactus, and damn few trees spread over a large flat area with just a few small rises to break up the landscape.

When the two men got about five miles or so from the wagons they found places to conceal themselves and waited for the full moon to come up. The moon would be up about 9 PM and in this flat land with little vegetation, the moon would light up the night almost like day; they would be able to see movement from a mile or more away.

Hobart started the guard shifts around 7 PM, running for four hours at a time. Most people went to bed early on the trail, tired from the day's travels and work. Red was a war veteran and believed that the raiders would attack after 12, when the second shift of guards had a chance to settle in and become a little bored.

The moon came up and painted the land with a pale light. It was around 11 PM when Red spotted the band of horsemen coming out of an arroyo over a mile in front of him. They were traveling in single file at a walk, timing they arrival at the wagon train for very early morning. The slow pace allowed Red to join up with Josh and they headed back to the wagons at a high lope.

Now they were sure that the raiders knew the location of the wagon train and planned on a surprise attack sometime after midnight. The wagon train was put on alert and prepared to defend itself; the raiders were in for a very rude surprise.

The two young men got back to the wagons and reported to Hobart and finished getting ready for the attack. Josh and Red got something to eat, saddled fresh horses, and checked their weapons. Diablo nickered at Josh when he left the big horse in the portable corral.

Again the two men would use guerilla tactics by fighting from horseback. This time Josh was mounted on the quarter horse stallion that Hobart had offered before. The attack wouldn't last long and speed would be important. He and Red would harass the raiders from the flanks hoping to disrupt the attack on the wagons.

Josh was hid in a stand of tall scrub just to the west of the wagons when the Bushwhackers started their attack. He waited until they had passed his position before making his move. Pushing the quarter horse into a gallop he came up behind the advancing riders.

Just as they started to fire at the defenders in the wagons, Josh and Red attacked from the rear. They made a run firing their pistols and peeled off to the side. A volley of fire from the wagons greeted the gang and was repeated several times; it stopped the riders in their tracks.

They turned to retreat and were faced with more gun fire from Josh, Red, and four others who had been hidden in an arroyo west of the wagons. The riders turned again and faced more fire from the wagons. As quickly as the attack began it was over. The survivors, only eight of them, galloped off to the east putting as much distance as possible between them and the fire storm that came from the wagons.

None of the people from the wagon train had been injured, except for one man who sprained an ankle enthusiastically jumping off a wagon to take cover. The Bushwhackers weren't as fortunate; they left 14 dead on the ground in front of the wagon train but no Fogerty. Gonna make a hell of a letter home, Josh thought. This time no one talked about burying the dead men.

It was just as well because Hobart wouldn't have done it. He repeated what he said after the first raid outside of Oklahoma City, "Let God show them mercy because I won't.

Hobart did have some of the men strip the dead raiders of anything that could be useful; guns, powder, a couple of repeating rifles, some cartridges and horses the raiders left behind. The weapons would be given out around the wagon train to add to their fire power and the horses traded at the next town for supplies.

Hobart was walking among the wagons checking with his people for any injuries besides the man with the sprained ankle and for damage to any equipment when Josh and Red found him. "We're gonna follow those that got away for a bit, Mr. Hobart; just to make sure they don't double back," Josh told him. "I don't reckon they'll want any more to do with us but we wanna make sure."

"Sounds like a good idea. But if you boys find them don't be heroes, stay out of range and skedaddle on back here," he warned his young scouts. "Would hate to have you boys shot up after we won the battle."

Josh and Red picked up the trail of the fleeing riders easily due to the full moon and followed it; keeping very alert and watching for an ambush. Looking at the tracks both men thought the raiders were running like hell to get as far away from the rifles of the wagon train as possible.

Within a couple of miles they saw a horse standing with its' head down fifty yards or so off the trail. Josh and Red separated and came at the animal from opposite sides, looking for the rider; they found him at the bottom of a shallow arroyo 25 to 30 feet from his horse, lying on his back. The man apparently had a gun shot wound in his belly and was still bleeding.

He looked up as Josh and Red approached him from either side with their pistols drawn. His own pistol was on the ground beside him. He was holding his wound with both hands and didn't make a move toward his weapon.

"Well boys, you got me. Don't have much fight left in me," the man said as the two young men got closer.

"I'll be damned," Josh said. Turning to Red he continued, "Its John Fogerty himself." Red picked up the man's pistol and tucked it under his own belt.

"Do I know you boy? I've seen you somewhere before," Fogerty said.

"It's Josh Kelly from Missouri, Fogerty." Red saw that his friend's face was stern and cold looking.

"Like old home week, ain't it boy? Don't guess I'll be recruiting you after all." Fogerty chuckled and then coughed, spitting up some blood. "Looks like I'm out of action for a while," he continued after his coughing spell.

"Hang tight Fogerty, we'll get you some help from the wagon train, though you don't deserve it." Josh went to examine Fogerty's horse; the animal had a wound in his chest that blood bubbled out of every time it breathed. Shot through the lung Josh thought. We'll have to put him down.

Red shouted to him, "Why don't you go get some help? You're better mounted than me; I'll wait here and put the horse down while you're gone."

Josh mounted his horse and started back to the wagon train. He had gone about 200 yards when he heard the gun shot. Well at least that poor animal is out of its' misery he thought. About ten seconds after the first shot he heard a second one. Puzzled he stopped and looked back over the trail. Why a second shot he asked himself?

Back in the arroyo Red had pulled the saddle off the wounded horse and stroked the animal's neck for a minute. For a man that had just been in a battle his movements and his eyes were very gentle. He waited until Josh was all but out of sight before he shot the suffering animal. Returning to where Fogerty was lying he squatted down beside the leader of the outlaw band.

"You're gut shot Fogerty. You don't have much more chance than that horse," Red told him with a hard look in his eye. He'd had that same look facing down the man in the saloon in Oklahoma City.

Fogerty looked back at Red and said, "I figure I've got maybe three, four days before I croak and I'll be in misery and pain the whole time. That about right boy?"

Red nodded in agreement. "What's your name son?" Fogerty asked. "If you don't mind telling me."

"John McCall."

"Well Mr. McCall, you'd be doing me a service if you'd finish me off; or give me my pistol and I'll do it myself. Don't hanker laying around for several days in pain before the end."

Red didn't like the man but he had to admire his courage to do what needed to be done. Even with a doctor Fogerty had no chance; gut shot men just didn't survive. He drew his pistol then handed Fogerty his gun and stood back; keeping a sharp eye on the outlaw. Fogerty nodded at Red, looked around for a few seconds and put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger. That was the second gun shot that Josh had heard.

Josh turned his horse after a minute or so to return and check out the second gun shot. He saw Red riding toward him at a slow lope. He pulled up next to Josh and handed him a Henry Repeating rifle.

Pointing at the rifle and then at a pistol stuck in his belt he said, "These are the only useful things he had on him. Fogerty decided he didn't want to go through all the pain and die anyway so he shot himself."

"How'd he get a gun, did you give it to him?" Josh asked knowing the answer.

"I didn't like the scum but he was going to die anyway. Why make him suffer?"

Josh looked at his friend for a few seconds and said, "You can be a hard man sometimes Red."

"Sometimes, in this country, you have to be hard," Red replied.

The two friends looked at each other for a moment. Josh nodded and they rode back to the wagon train. They reported to Hobart that the raiders were half way to Mexico by now and told him about Fogerty. Josh handed the pistol and the Henry rifle to Hobart to add to the stores of the wagon train.

In spite of the late night attack, Hobart got the wagons on the trail at first light. They had almost three hundred mile to Santa Fe and the weather would start to turn shortly. The wagons needed to get to Santa Fe before the summer temperatures began to soar into triple digits and the summer thunderstorms struck. It was the middle of June '62 and by the end of the month they could expect daytime temperatures of 95 and more. And when the temperatures were at their highest you could expect thunderstorms too.

The wagon train made very good time over the flat land for the next twelve days. They kept the horses and mules well watered and fed. Without the animals the people on the train could be stranded in this desert like land. Planning ahead, the oxen had been sold or traded for mules in Oklahoma City because their brute strength was no longer necessary in this arid mostly flat landscape. Josh and Red spent hours in the saddle scouting ahead for water and grazing.

Normally the wagon train would start the day just after first light. Feeding the people and stock, breaking camp and hitching the teams to the wagons took better than two hours and they would hit the trail by 7 AM. But now by 7 AM the wagons had been on the move for two or three hours; the change in the schedule was due to the heat. Around noon the wagons would stop and everyone, people and animals, would rest and take a siesta during the heat of the day. They would get back on the trail around 4 PM and travel until just before dusk; several times they would push on under the light of a full moon.

The wagons needed to get to Santa Fe before the real heat hit this increasingly dry and dusty land; their lives could depend on it. They were about ten days out of Santa Fe and the end of the trail when the summer storms hit. First they suffered a hail storm which spooked the horses and mules; they had to stop and calm the animals down.

The hail tore holes in some of the canvas covers over the wagon beds and when the hard rain followed it soaked the inside of several wagons. At first the wagons continued on through the rain, but on the second day it rained so hard that it was hard to keep the teams headed into it. The animals wanted to turn their backs to the storm and ride it out; sometimes it was almost impossible to force them on.

There were several arroyos and small washes to cross that were only small inconveniences in dry weather but were now impossible to cross because of the water rushing through them. The wagons had to sit and wait until the rain water ran off and got low enough for the train to continue, and as long as it rained the arroyos would be full of water. These delays cost them several days.

The families in the train silently gave thanks that they had gathered so many buffalo chips when they had the chance. Those chips made the difference between a cold camp and cook fires. Even if there had been a wood supply nearby it would have been too wet to burn.

Josh and Red didn't have a lot to do while it was raining, all the gear was in good repair, the animals were still in good shape, and you couldn't hunt in this weather. They did do scouting trips around the camp to avoid any surprises; it didn't pay to let your guard down in this wild country.

In the afternoon of the second day of waiting, the rain quit. Hobart inspected the arroyo that had forced them to stop and predicted the water would be almost gone by late that afternoon. He explained that the wagons would break camp the following morning; no need to travel for only a couple of hours and then have to make camp again.

As Hobart predicted, by the afternoon the water level in the arroyo had dropped to a trickle and would be entirely gone by the next morning. He asked Josh and Red to make a sweep on horseback around the wagons. "Take a ride and see if anything is stirring now that the rains stopped boys."

They young men smiled and quickly saddled their horses; they were happy to get out and ride after being cooped up for a few days. Red rode south while Josh took off to the north, they would ride a sweep out to about two miles and then return to the wagons.

Josh rode north amazed at the change in the land because of the rain. Instead of being hot and smelling dusty, the landscape smelled clean and fresh; the scrub trees, grass, and some wild flowers were already beginning to bloom. As he topped a small rise he saw something else new to the land, at least it was new to him.

About 100 feet away at the bottom of the rise were a dozen or so Indians.

He pulled Diablo to a stop on the crest in surprise. These were the first Indians he had seen on his journey. Josh knew that these weren't the same as the Cherokee and Osage back in Missouri; mostly those had become farmers and mixed with the white man.

The Indians that Josh saw were not farmers. They all carried weapons from bows to lances and even three or four rifles. He wasn't too worried for the wagons, they had enough fire power to protect themselves against this group; he was worried that there might be a lot more of them. Josh wondered if he could get away to warn the camp; twelve to one, when you're the one, was not good odds.