 
Jericho!

(Early Adventures of the Scarburg Family)

by

Larry Edward Hunt

Published in USA

Copyright © 2018 by: Larry Hunt

Cover Design by Laura Shinn Design

ISBN-13: 978-1723253713

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

Jericho! is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. In some instances actual facts and names are interspersed within the fictional account. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. Further note: this IS a work of fiction; it is not intended for use by serious researchers. The author has taken liberty with names – leaving some as history has named, changing others, altered places, events and sequences of event. In short, the author made the historical events fit the fictional storyline.

Chapter One

THE EARLY YEARS

Poppa Scarburg could not have picked a more perfect, tranquil place in Texas to live and raise a family, or so it seemed.

Tranquil until that dreadful Sunday morning in April 1870 when the Comanche raiding party rides into the valley heading straight for the Scarburg ranch. The Indians, numbering almost forty braves, have decided to pay a surprise visit. It has been quite a spell since the area realized any Indian trouble, and people thereabouts were beginning to think problems with the Tribes were over. It wasn't.

The Scarburgs raise horses, not Indian ponies, but sturdy, durable, Quarter Horses – and the Comanche came to get them!

The ranch that William Scarburg bought is a spread covering eight sections; each section of land consists of six hundred forty acres.

Poppa Scarburg names his patch of Texas dirt Jericho - the Jericho Ranch.

He knew according to the Book of Joshua 6:1-27 the Battle of Jericho was the Israelite's first battle in their conquest of Canaan, the new country. Poppa Scarburg stated he wanted his ranch to be a type of Jericho too. He said his Jericho, out in the middle of unsettled Texas, was to be his family's battle and they were going to conquer it as Joshua did the original Jericho. Strange, no one ever asked where Poppa Scarburg came up with enough gold money to buy over five thousand acres of prime Texas landscape, especially since he had just recently returned from the Civil War. A war in which he fought on the losing side.

Digging clay from the river bank Poppa Scarburg and the rest of the family fashion and dry adobe bricks until they have accumulated enough to begin building their house. But the first things they construct are two large gate posts at the entrance to the long road leading to, what would eventually be, the main ranch house. These two columns are four-foot square, twelve feet tall and have a black, wrought iron sign spanning the two uprights with the word 'JERICHO' right dab in the middle. On each corner is mounted a ram's horn, four in all, and each is painted the brilliant color of gold. These horns, said Poppa Scarburg, are to symbolize the ram's horn Joshua blew as he marched around the city of Jericho, as the Bible said until the walls came tumbling down. From that day forward their gate would be called the Jericho Gate.

THE SUNDAY RAID

Jericho is nestled in a spacious valley bounded on each side by two rather large creeks - the Stephenson Branch and the Wolf Branch of the Brazos River. This valley is known as the Two River's Valley. In the isolated, mountains of north Alabama from where the Scarburgs originally came, a forty-acre patch of rocky dirt is considered a sizable farm, but in Texas, five thousand one hundred and twenty acres is considered a small spread, some of the larger ranches cover one or two entire counties. Some say one ranch up in the panhandle is so big it takes two days simply to ride on horseback from one side to the other. This might be a slight exaggeration, you know how Texans are, but I tell it as I remember it.

It is a perfect place to raise cattle and horses. The rivers provide plenty of fresh, ever flowing water and the earth is lush, fertile, bottom-land. And some say you have to beat the fish with your oar to keep them from jumping into your boat. The weather is hot in the summer, and in some years the winters can be pretty brutal. However, to these hardy, pioneer souls they can endure almost anything. This day is going to test the Scarburgs. It will be a mighty test.

The Indians attack out of the morning sunrise from the east. Using the bright morning break of day as cover, they come charging, at full gallop, upon the Ranch and its small force of Texan defenders. Fortunately, Poppa Scarburg has a beautiful German shepherd that hates Injuns. This dog named Trumpet or just Trump can smell Indians at a mile's distance, and never fear he gets a whiff of them this morning and quickly raises the alarm long before the Comanche warriors are within shooting distance. Poppa said he named his dog Trumpet 'cause his bark is as loud as ole Joshua blowing that trumpet as he marched around Jericho back in those early Bible days.

As the whooping, screaming, attackers come within rifle range, the Jericho defenders have already grabbed their Winchesters, Sharps and Colts and are ready to give battle to the oncoming horde of savages.

Poppa Scarburg wets his finger with spit and wipes the front sight of his Sharp's rifle as he centers it on the first yelping attacker and gently squeezes the trigger. The cartridge ignites sending the walnut stock against his right shoulder with a stern bump. The .52-50 lead projectile strikes the enemy's chest, dead center, out close to five-hundred yards, knocking the rider over the horse's flanks, face first, onto the dirt in front of the onrushing throng of Indians. He must be one of the chiefs or at least one of their leaders since the multitude of the others rein in their ponies around their fallen brother. For a brief moment, they sit on their ponies staring at the dead man on the ground. Dark red blood runs across his pearly-white, bear-teeth necklace and down across the eagle feathers protruding from his shiny, jet-black hair wetting the dust of the Texas landscape. They seem perplexed; for a moment they do not know what to do; before they can decide another rifle bullet from the ranch house knocks one more Indian from his horse and awakens the others from their trance. The entire party jerks their ponies around and begins the charge anew.

The folks at the ranch are now ready. Extra rifle shells lie piled at their sides, barriers of defense are complete, nerves settled – they have prepared themselves for a fight to the finish. And a finish it is to be. The Indians are hundreds of yards away as the defenders unleash a deadly rain of lead bullets on them. Poppa Scarburg, or Colonel William Edward Scarburg, Sr. had fought for the south in the recent unpleasantries between the north and south and knew the benefit of fighting from behind a barricaded defense. He had engaged in this style of battle many times before, but instead of Indians, the attackers were blue-belly Yankees. Regardless of the numbers, from behind a barrier, the defenders are always at an enormous advantage, so it is to be this day also.

Poppa's grandson, Jesse, although at only the young age of fifteen, shoots his Winchester from behind the big oak stump in the yard as well as any grown-up man could have done. Trump, his German shepherd, lies at his side observing the commotion. He fires his rifle so fast and furious that smoke coming from the heated barrel can be readily seen. Some say later that Jesse might have killed eight or ten of the warriors, but when asked he will never say for sure, he merely cracks a slight grin and sheepishly looks at the ground.

ATTACK REPELLED

The red-skinned attackers fall like autumn leaves from the trees. One after another they plummet from their ponies' backsides to the earth. Gradually the offensive assault of the Comanche is being minimized. Although, being a large group at the start of their attack the gunfire from the fortifications at the ranch is reducing their number from the dozens to such a small amount that one can count them on two hands.

Seeing they are practically alone, the few remaining Comanche stop their headlong charge and reverse their direction; they begin to retreat to the rear. The remnants of the attack make it back to the boundary of the wooded area where they had initially grouped to make their onslaught. In this forested locale the leaders have left their women folk and younger boys, but by the time the few fighting braves return the women and boys have fled thinking no one will be left alive to return.

Once the gunfire ceases, and the dense blue-black smoke from the gunpowder settles the men behind the barricades make their way out onto the field of slaughter. All the Jericho men are safe, except one - Poppa Scarburg. Poppa has taken a bullet clean through his heart and lies slumped over the barricade - dead. Poppa Scarburg is the only man at Jericho killed in this early spring attack. A couple of the other defenders have injuries; however, none are life-threatening.

Everywhere lie dead Comanches, one can hardly take a step without stepping on a dead Indian. Occasionally a moan is heard, but its mournful cry is perceived for only a second as a rifle shot quickly silences the invader's outcry. These Jericho defenders are taking no prisoners and are leaving no Comanche alive to raid another ranch.

Within a couple of minutes, they determine none of the attacking Comanche are still breathing. As the men walk across the killing field and nearing the woods Trump raises an alarm, and at the same time a faint cry is heard – it isn't a man, what is that? Could it be? Yes, this is the cry of a baby!

As the squaws have hurriedly withdrawn from the cover of the brush and woods a baby has been left, still tied to its mother's backboard. Who its mother is, or if it even has a mother still alive will go unknown? During the earlier fighting, some stray bullets have penetrated the wooded area and found their marks on some of the Indian women. A number of them are also dead. At the moment, all that is known – here is a baby, not an Indian baby not a Texacan baby, but only an innocent baby and it needs immediate tending.

Pa Scarburg places his Sharp's rifle on the ground. Removes his bandanna and tries to wipe his hands of the grit, grime, and gunpowder residue the best he can before reaching down and gathering the frail, little Indian boy into his arms. The rest of the men stand in a circle, not speaking merely glaring down at the babe that their boss holds in his rough, leather-like hands.

Walking back toward the ranch house, Roberta Scarburg and young Mamacita, their cook, are attending to Poppa Scarburg, but unfortunately, nothing can be done for him. They turn and see William coming toward them carrying a baby. Walking close to his side is ole Trump. Both women hurry to meet them. What a scene - dead, mangled corpses lay strewn everywhere. The smell of blood and death floats on the air, wounded horses whinny in the death throes of breathing their last breath, and yet here bundled in the robes of an unknown mother is a new soul, a little Indian boy; a tiny boy that is about to get a new lease on life.

"Ma," William said to Roberta, "what are we gonna do with this little guy?"

"Why...? What do you think Pa, this young'un needs feedin'. Take him into the house and let's see if we can't fix him up."

Turning to his ranch hands, "Men," said Pa Scarburg, "some of you go over to the cemetery and dig Poppa a grave next to Mama. We'll be back out for his burial after we get this young'un fixed up. The rest of you men see if you can get this mess out here cleaned up. Hitch up a couple of the wagons and haul these mangy, heathens over to that washed out gulley on the backside of the west forty. The buzzards, crows, coyotes and other wild creatures will take care of them. It's more charitable than they deserve and spite more humane than we would have received if these heathens had overrun Jericho."

Sadly, sitting at the kitchen table Pa Scarburg raises the question, "Bert, I know how you love these little fellers, but we've already got more mouths than we know how to feed. I don't get how we'll handle one more? Besides we have a funeral to attend. You don't need a little one like this to take care of in addition to everything else you have to do."

"Ah, Pa, we'll never realize we've got this little young'un on the place. Maybe the Good Lord sent us this new soul to replace Poppa Scarburg we just lost, who knows? We'll love the little feller is all I can say."

"Yeah, I knew that's what you'd say, but you've already got Hank who is about the same age as this little Indian lad, and there's Jesse. Say, if he's staying what are we goin' to call him?"

"Already named him," said Bert from across the table. "Me and Mamacita have been callin' him 'Charlie.'"

"So, I guess 'Charlie' it is," Pa Scarburg replies. "Now, let's take Charlie and go bury Poppa and git rid of all those heathers littering our front yard."

Hank and Roberta's oldest son Jesse leaning against the dining room door listens to every word spoken at the table. Jess, as the family calls him, is biting his tongue. He is the oldest at fifteen and doesn't relish surrendering any of the families attention on another snot-nosed kid. Putting up with the oohs and aahs of the family fussing over little Haskell has been enough to choke a goat, Jesse thinks. When Poppa Scarburg died he knows he left the ranch to Pa Scarburg, and now Jesse, Pa's oldest, will be next in line, it is going to be his ranch someday – and he doesn't want to share it with anyone, especially a 'found in the woods' redskin.

Jess might only be a kid of fifteen, but he has the dreams of a full-grown man. He can vision this 'small' ranch as a big spread. Hundreds if not thousands of more acres. Horses and cattle so numerous that you can't count 'em. On a recent trip to Austin, he met a cattleman from Kentucky that sparked Jess' interest in a new breed of cattle – Herefords or as they are better known - whiteface cows. He is all enthused to breed the Jericho's hearty long-horns with a pure-bred Hereford bull and raise a beef producing line of steers and heifers that will revolutionize the Texas livestock market.

Chapter Two

THE BEGINNING

What I have been trying to tell you is a true story – it's the chronicles of my great-grandfather's family. However, since it is a second or third-hand tale to me, I must profess it might be solely an imaginary Texan's tall tale, but a great story at that, who knows, it's not impossible that it could have happened.

Anyway, I will continue as far back as I can remember.

It all began on a spring day back in the 1800's in the old west. Texas, as I said, to be exact. That was a good time, a great time to live. The days were long, and the work was hard, but the only thing one had to worry about was the day's work and the activity on Jericho.

My great-grandfather was known as Hank. Hank was his substitute for his given name – Haskell Edward Scarburg. I said it was his sub; not everyone disliked his given name. He is supposed never to have favored Haskell – sounded too formal, he said. Hank, he liked better, and shoot if he wanted the name Hank that is what it was to be.

TEXAS LIFE

Life on a ranch in central Texas is the same old dreary, mundane day in and day out routine. Up before sunrise, punch, brand, rope cows, eat supper and go to bed to get ready for another exciting day of doing the same things tomorrow.

As the boys grow so do their dreams – Jess wants a whiteface Hereford bull but Hank and Charlie, or the twins as they have become to be known, want to work Quarter Horses. Jess is cow crazy, and Hank and Charlie love horses.

The twins, now twenty-one years old, try to convince their father to let them go north into the Great Plains, to trade or buy purebred Indian ponies. These Broncos or Mustangs are known for their stamina and long wind. Their bloodline extends back to the Spanish Conquistadors. They want to breed these Indian ponies with their hard-working, fast running, Quarter Horses and get a breed that the U.S. Cavalry should find very useful. The Quarter Horse gets its name from the fact that it cannot be outrun in a quarter-mile race.

One night after a great meal prepared by Mamacita, their longtime Mexican cook, Charlie relates a story he heard about a raiding party of Comanche that left Texas, rides up into the plains of the Dakotas, and steals a whole herd of Indian Mustangs. By the time the Sioux discover their animals are missing the Comanche are well on their way back to Texas. The chase is on - the Sioux are breathing smoke and want the Comanche strung up by their heels and skinned alive. By riding one horse until it tires the Comanche jump onto the back of one of the stolen colts and by swapping horses they ride non-stop for three solid days before returning to Texas. This type of horsemanship long outlasts the Sioux ponies, which have been run until exhausted long before they get half-way across the state of Nebraska.

However, the more the 'twins' argue for advancing the horse side of the Jericho ranch, Jess maintains a lively rebuttal in favor of raising whiteface cattle.

PA'S DILEMMA

Pa Scarburg sits with his head in his hands listening, elbows on the table – both sides of the argument make sense. Raising a herd of whiteface Herefords seems logical and appears to have a lot of promise, but the twin's idea of breeding Indian ponies with Jericho's Quarter Horses for use by the Calvary makes sound reasoning too. Pa has a dilemma – which approach to choose? He only has enough money to try one of the two proposals – horses or cattle?

Raising his head, he looks at Charlie, "Son, tell me more about this yarn you heard, did you know the person telling this account? You believe he was serious about Indian ponies being up in the high plains? Or did you purely believe him since it was a good tale of a Comanche raiding party?"

Nodding, "Yeah, Pa I believe him. He rides shotgun now and again for the Overland Stage Line. He has got kind of a salty reputation and is good with a gun, but he seems to be a straight shooter. Oh, forgive the pun. I see him all the time at the stage relay station, I like him and believe he would not steer us wrong. In fact, he said if you agreed with the idea he would like to go along. He thought life around the stage line was getting pretty dull. He said he knew of a couple of places up north where we might find some good Indian breeding stock."

"What's his name Son?"

"Ringo! Ringo is all I have ever heard him called, Pa. Only Ringo."

RINGO TAYLOR

In east Texas, Ringo Taylor's family was involved in a fierce feud with a family called the Suttons. The Taylor bunch was headed by Pitkin Taylor, a Captain in the former Confederate Army. After the war, Captain Taylor and his family moved to Texas.

The Sutton's family patriarch was William 'Billy' Sutton.

Billy Sutton ran for and was elected sheriff in Clayton, Texas and shot and later killed a Taylor kinsman when Sutton tried to arrest him for presumably stealing a horse. On Christmas Eve that same year, Sheriff Sutton murdered a couple more Taylors in the Lucky Horseshoe saloon in Clayton. They all had gotten into an argument over the sale of some horses.

The feud intensified, later Sheriff Sutton was appointed to the Texas Rangers. The Texas Rangers, along with Union soldiers, job were to enforce 'Reconstruction' which angered many of the Texas southern sympathizers. The feud then evolved into a fight between the Suttons and the southern-leaning Taylors, including John Wesley Hardin, an outlaw, and gunfighter. Both sides had recruited 200 cutthroat, gunfighting members each.

A year later, Sutton arrested Pitkin Taylor's two sons-in-law. The charges were trivial, but they never made it to jail, they were shot down in cold blood. That summer James Sutton, was taken from his home by a group of Taylor sympathizers and murdered in his front yard. His son bent on revenge rode into town and shot through the saloon door, killing Thomas Taylor.

After the murder of Thomas Taylor, Sheriff Sutton decides to move his family to a safer place. However, as the Sheriff and his wife, are boarding the Wells Fargo stagecoach Thomas Taylor's two brothers gun him down in front of his wife.

In the meantime, Ringo Taylor, Pitkin's nephew, was arrested for murder and sat in the county jail awaiting trial. The word of the Taylor and Sutton feud had spread throughout the region, and folks from near and far came to town, along with journalist and newspapermen to witness Ringo Taylor's trial. However, the night before the court proceedings was to begin a giant tornado came roaring out of the western sky and wiped half the town off the map.

The next day, as the citizens crawled out from underneath the rubble of the remainder of their town, they found the jailhouse destroyed and all the prisoners gone, including Ringo Taylor. With his getaway, the bloody feud gradually came to a halt. The Taylor faction lost twenty lives compared to eighteen fatalities among the Sutton clan during the feud, but Ringo was still a wanted man with a reward on his head.

THE DECISION

"Here's what I've decided. Jess your idea of breeding those whiteface cows, is fine, but boys you know I've always had a special place in my heart for them mangy ole four-legged ridin' critters. Sure would like to see what kind of special horse we could come up with using those Indian Mustangs from the great plains and our Quarter Horses."

"Ah, Pa," said Jesse, "how come the twins always get their way? Don't my ideas never mean nothing?" His anger is almost exploding from inside. He hates the twins! 'They have always been Pa's favorites,' he thinks.

"Yes, son, you have always come up with good ideas, but we can have a herd of ponies ready for the Calvary in less than two years. A herd of Herefords will take at least three, that's why I'm going with the horses. You'll get your crack at the whitefaces in due time Jess."

"Ah, Pa!"

"Quick as I can come with enough money, you can buy one of them Whiteface bulls, but right now I don't have enough money for both ideas."

"Ah, Pa!"

"Charlie, you and Hank get that man Ringo to go with you. You're right; he might know where to go get them ponies. Jesse'll stay here and help me run the ranch."

Jess has his answer, but not the one he wants, and he hates it. 'Those darn twins, maybe they'll get scalped before they get back,' he contemplates as he glares across the table at them. 'I only hope those Redskins don't eat my dog, Trump.'

RIDING OUT OF TEXAS

This particular fine day, Hank sits tall on Black Magic, his beautiful, coal black, Texas Quarter Horse.

Next to him, riding his tan and white spotted pinto pony named Lil Sue, this early spring morning, was Charlie. Charlie isn't his actual given name, as we know, since he is a dyed-in-the-wool, bona fide, full-blood Coe-manch, as Hank calls him. No one knows Charlie's correct Indian name; he was named Charlie after Hank's Pa found him, you remember I told how he was found barely alive after the Comanche raiding party attacked their ranch back in '70, 1870 that is. The raid which got Poppa Scarburg killed.

Charlie couldn't have been more than one or two at the time. With no one else to see after him Hank's father and mother took the little savage in to raise as their own. He grew tall and strong and loved his adopted white family, but he never shied away from his Indian heritage. Even to this day, he wears buckskins, moccasins, a knife at his waist, and an ever-present eagle feather poked into his glistening, braided, black hair.

Growing up Hank and Charlie, being almost the same age, were inseparable. Hank with his jet-black hair, dark complexion, and dark brown eyes make the two appear almost like brothers. In fact, it is said they are possibly closer than real brothers.

Next to Hank and Charlie rides a strange man. Dressed entirely in black from his broad, Stetson hat on his head to his shiny, black boots on his feet. A mean looking Colt .44 caliber slung low on his right leg and tied off by a short length of rawhide. His black saddle is Mexican, ornately decorated with silver studs. His spurs are silver also, and the rowels so large they jingle each step his horse takes. He goes by the name Ringo, only Ringo, his last name we know, but no one uses it. He is what they call a gunslinger. He is said to 'be handy with a gun.' If one looks closely, you can see 'how handy' he is by the tiny notches cut into the pearl handles of his .44. How many? That positively is unknown; he certainly will not let you touch his gun, and you can't get close enough to count the exact number.

He said his name is Ringo, but that's partially true - his full name is Ringo Taylor and he drifted into the vicinity of the Jericho Ranch on purpose. He was a wanted man with the law on his tail; he was looking for an out of the way place to hide. Jericho and the immediate vicinity was the perfect place for a feller on the wrong side of the law to disappear.

GOING NORTH

Hank digs his spurs into Black Magic's side as the three cowboys slowly gallop north out of Texas. Trump, their faithful German shepherd, trots along in front of them. "Giddy up," said Charlie to Lil Sue.

"Let's head 'em north," Ringo adds poking his spurs into the flanks of his horse.

Their final destination - somewhere in the direction where the cold winter winds originate. Their mission \- ponies, Indian Mustangs to be more precise.

Chapter Three

COWTOWN

Turning in his saddle Charlie speaks to Ringo, "Say, Ringo how much farther is it before we cross the Red River into Oklahoma?"

Ringo looks at Charlie with a surprised expression, "Heck, Charlie, we ain't even got to Fort Worth yet, and it's over a hundred miles from there to the Red River at the Oklahoma border. Shoot we've only been on the trail for a few days. I think you should've took the train."

"Fine, I am just asking. We would have taken that train if we had any money, but we have only five-hundred gold dollars to trade for the Indian horses. How much you think the Indians will ask apiece for them Ringo?"

"Oh, I don't figure them Injuns will ask more than one double-eagle fer each one."

"So your sayin' with our five-hundred dollars we ought to come back with twenty to twenty-five mounts," asks Hank?

"Yeah, that's right, but, Hank where are you keeping them twenty-dollar gold pieces?"

"Got'em right here," Hank said patting his saddlebag. "Safe and sound."

"Listen, Hank, I ain't tryin' to tell you how to run your business, but when we get to Fort Worth keep that poke of gold tied inside your pants. They's fellers up there that will slit your throat for only one of them double-eagles."

"Thanks, Ringo, good advice, but say, why are we goin' to Fort Worth anyways. Why not slightly skirt around the west side and keep on heading towards Oklahoma."

"Hank you've lived at Jericho all your life I only wanted you and Charlie to see the world, especially them cattle yards and those slaughterhouses. It's worth the trip purely to see thousands and thousands of cows, bulls, and sheep bunched up all together in one place."

The sun is getting lower in the western sky as the sound of a large herd of cattle is heard up ahead. Topping a small rise, they could view the valley below – as far as their eyes can see is a tremendous herd of cattle. They have wandered into a huge herd heading to the cattle yards at Fort Worth.

As they cover their nose and mouth with their bandannas to help breathe through the dust-filled air, one of the wranglers rides up beside them, touches his gloved hand to his hat, "Howdy, men, sorry for all the dust. Y'all headed to Cowtown?"

After exchanging a few pleasantries, the cowboy asks if they want to fall in with them since they should get to the cattle yards a little before dark. He explains he and three other ranchers have combined their herds to make one big drive to the cattle market at Fort Worth. He introduces himself as August Freeman, or plain ole Gus to his friends and said he is the trail boss for this drive. He further explains they have a pretty decent 'cookie,' a well-supplied chuckwagon, and the grub ain't all that bad neither. He invites them to supper and a chance at a reasonably good meal, and if they want they are welcome to bed down around their campfire later on.

An invitation this good cannot be refused, and the three readily agree.

Sitting around the campfire after a hearty supper of son-of-a-gun stew, two bowls each, mind you, they complement the cook on their meal. He describes the delicious stew as nothing more than plenty of Texas beef, potatoes, some wild onions he pulled up, and a few select spicy Mexican ingredients he threw in. He calls it his secret recipe. Also, along with the stew he supplied them with a chunk of homemade, sourdough biscuit baked in the fire in a cast iron Dutch oven. Cookie accompanied this superb meal with cup after cup of freshly brewed 'Six Shooter' coffee poured out of a twenty-cup enamelware pot. Six Shooter so named because it's been known to be so strong it can float a Colt revolver on top. He said the secret to his great tasting coffee is the eggshells he adds right before boiling.

Most of the ten or fifteen wranglers on the trail boss Freeman's herd are cowboys of Mexican-Indian decent known as Vaqueros. A couple are black. Segregation is an eastern idea, out here on the open ranges of the west it is the character of a man's heart and the hours his butt can stay in the saddle, that is all the requirements are to being a good cowboy. Whether a man is black, brown or white is unimportant to the trail boss.

One of the Vaqueros produces a guitar from the chuckwagon and leaning back against the wagon wheel begins to strum a few chords. Charlie, an accomplished musician of his own, pulls his harmonica from his pocket and together they began to harmonize some old south of the border tunes.

THE GAME

Ringo notices three or four cowboys gathering around an old saddle blanket lying on the ground. One pulls out a well-worn deck of cards and begins shuffling. All the cowpunchers have received their wages for the trail drive, and a draw poker game is about to get started. Wranglers and cowpuncher's pay is around twenty-five to thirty dollars a month, and this drive has taken roughly two months, so it is apparent some serious money is about to change ownership.

Ringo saunters over and asks if this is an open game and if so, he would like to join. He believes if someone must take their money why shouldn't it be him. One of the Vaqueros moves over, and squats down on the ground giving Ringo a place at the 'table.'

Earlier, Gus takes Hank, Charlie, and Ringo on a tour of the Fort Worth stockyards right before dark. Gus has been to the cattle yards before and knows most of the important things to show them. One thing that catches Hank's eye is a corral full of whiteface bulls. Gus explains they are there for the cattle auction the following day. He further said the man owning the bunch of beautiful looking animals is from the State of Kentucky and goes by the name of Armstrong. Said he can't remember his first name, but believes it is something like Chuck or Charles.

As Ringo sits down around the horse blanket 'table' another man walks up and introduces himself as Charles Armstrong, the same man with the whiteface cattle, and asks to join in the game. The cowboys readily agree, thinking more money is always welcome. Pulling up a 'chair' on the ground, Armstrong removes a bottle of red-eye from his pocket, takes a big swig, passes it around the players, and announces, "Let's get this game on."

Ringo wasn't aware of the chance meeting Jesse had with a man from Kentucky during a previous trip to Austin. Was Mr. Armstrong the same man? Only Jesse would know and he wasn't on this trip.

The poker players have been playing late into the night, now most of the Vaquero's money is piled up on the saddle blanket almost evenly divided between Ringo and Mr. Armstrong. The cards have not steadily seemed to favor one player or the other. One hand goes to Ringo, but the next Mr. Armstrong takes.

Finally, it is announced this is to be the last hand of the night and the cards hit the table. Five cards are dealt to each of the two remaining players. Mr. Armstrong slowly picks up his cards and takes a peek. He is holding two Kings and two Aces. Ringo tries to watch his opponent's eyes. He wants to see a 'tell' of any kind, but the cattle owner does not flinch or change his facial expression in any noticeable way.

Ringo looks at his own five cards. Best he can come up with is a pair of deuces. Two deuces, 'dang,' he thinks. This hand is going to be the last one of the night, and Ringo wants something to clean out his opponent. A pair of deuces is not the hand to do it.

"I'll bet one-hundred," said Mr. Armstrong, pitching five double-eagles into the center of the 'table.'

'Shoot,' thinks Ringo, but he isn't going to fold yet. "I'll see your hundred and add another hundred," he replies pitching in the last of his money into the pot. Making a fainthearted bluff.

"Call, I'll take one," said Mr. Armstrong, throwing one card into the center along with another five double-eagles.

'What have I got myself into, thought Ringo, he's got two pair, a draw at a straight or flush or he could be bluffing. If he had four of a kind, I believe he would have stood pat and not drawn a card.'

Not knowing what to do Ringo asks for three cards, holding on to his pair of deuces, knowing all along he should be folding this hand, but all his money is in the pot. He has to either draw a better hand or put on a bluff for the ages.

Mr. Armstrong slowly slides his one dealt card onto his stack of four. He picks up his hand and fans the cards; the first two emerge, still two Kings. Little by little, he reveals the remaining cards - and Ace, another Ace and gently he exposes the last card - the Ace of Spades - he is holding a Full House.

"I'll wager five-hundred dollars," quietly exclaims Mr. Armstrong without much fanfare.

Still not knowing what to do, Ringo tries to buy a little extra time, "Let's see your money!"

Laying his cards on the table, the cattleman said, "I don't have five hundred dollars in hard cash," as he reaches into his breast pocket of his coat, "but, I have here a bill of sale for one of my whiteface Hereford bulls. He's worth way more than five-hundred dollars. What do you say, my dear friend? Is this good enough?"

Ringo looks at the bill of sale and he is caught in a dilemma, he does not have the cards to win, but has yet to see his drawn three cards. Maybe he will get lucky. He believes it would be prudent to look at his cards at this time. The first card was the Jack of Diamonds, no help. Gently he slides the next card where he can see it, a deuce! 'Three deuces - now we're talking.' Eyeing Mr. Armstrong's pile of cards across from him. 'If he's only got two pair, I've got him! But what if he hit a full house, my measly little deuces won't hold up.'

"What you say, young feller?" Mr. Armstrong said, tapping his cards on the saddle blanket. "You gonna call or stare at them cards all night?"

"Give me a second," answers Ringo, "I ain't looked at all my cards yet." Sweat is beginning to bead on his forehead, his mouth is dry, he feels light-headed, what can he do?

"Gimme a swig of that rot-gut!" Said Ringo. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he looks over his shoulder; he sees Hank sleeping peacefully with his head resting on his saddle and saddlebags. 'The saddlebags! Hank has a poke of gold worth five hundred dollars!'

Still not seeing his last card he places the five cards on the blanket, "Somebody got a knife?" One of the cowboys pulls a long, slender knife called an Arkansas Toothpick from his boot and hands it to Ringo. Ringo takes the razor-sharp, thin-blade knife and slams the point down into Mr. Armstrong's five cards. He takes out his own knife, a cut throat sharp Bowie, and punches its blade down into his hand of cards that lies on the horse blanket. "Give me a minute sir, and you'll know whether I call or not."

Kneeling down beside Hank, he grabs his shoulder and shakes him violently. Trump, lying next to Hank, raises his head and growls slightly. "What? What? What's the matter? Ringo!" He said sleepily, "What in the devil is the matter with you? Why are you shaking me and waking me up?"

"Listen, Hank, I've got a winning hand in this here poker game. That man has bet five-hundred dollars on this last hand, and I think I've got him beat."

"Ringo is that why you woke me - a poker game?" He asked bewildered.

"No...yeah...! Anyway, yes, it is the poker game Hank, I need your poke of gold to call him!"

"Have you gone crazy Ringo? You know that's all the money we have in the world, and you want to bet it on a poker hand?"

"Yep, I sure do. We can get that whiteface bull for Jericho, and Jess won't have to wait four or five years to get him a herd of whiteface Herefords. I can win him one here tonight."

Hank is fully awake and now hears the whiteface name, and sits up on his bedroll, "Whiteface? He bet one of his whiteface bulls? And bet five-hundred dollars with him. What did you draw?"

Speaking in a whisper, "Okay, here's the thing - Mr. Armstrong, he's the man with the bull, he took one card, and I got a Pair of Deuces and drew three cards."

"Wait, Ringo you're trying to tell me you want to bet our five hundred dollars in gold coins, gold may I remind you, on a card draw with only Two Deuces? Against a man that only drew one card!"

"Yeah, well not exactly, that five-hundred is to call, but here's the thing. I've done looked at two of my cards, one is a Jack, but the other was another Deuce. I've got three deuces which will beat Mr. Armstrong's Two Pair."

"Ringo, you sure you understand the rules of poker? You are right Three of a Kind will beat Two Pair, but what if he drew a Full House? Or one card to fill a Straight or Flush? I don't believe your three deuces will beat his hand then. What do you think?"

"Yes, you're right Hank, but I don't think he pulled it off - I just know I got him beat, just know it. He's only got two pair. Come on Hank; I really feel it deep down in my gut. I can almost taste it that I've got him beat. I can just see that ole bull at Jericho, this very minute."

"Ringo, you're truly like any other gambler - you're always gonna have the best hand. You know if we lose, we'll have to go home, empty handed, and I don't want to be the one to tell Pa you, and I mean only YOU lost our horse money in a card game. I do not even want to be standing close to you when you tell Pa this story. You willing to gamble on that prospect too?"

Ringo rubbed his chin, "Precisely, now that you put it that way, it does seem foolish." Glancing back at the horse blanket table the pull of the gamble was too large.

Mr. Armstrong looks up at Ringo with a sly grin. "What you gonna do my young friend, call or fold? You're playin' with the big boys now - put up or shut up!"

"I'll take the chance, give me the poke Hank, that bull is as good as ours. I'm tellin' you he's only got two pair."

Hank slides out from under his blanket, unbuckles his belt and removes the bag of gold that he has tied to his leg. Kissing his poke goodbye, he reluctantly hands it to Ringo. "I've done some crazy things in my day, but this one takes the cake."

Charlie, sleeping next to Hank has heard them whispering and is awake listening to them talk. As Hank and Ringo head back to the card game, Charlie follows. Trump is up trailing all three.

Standing over the table Ringo can see all five cards of both hands are still stuck holding the knife blades - no one has touched the cards. Ringo stands for a moment looking down into the eyes of Mr. Armstrong.

"You calling or folding young feller?"

Tossing the bag of coins on the table "I'm callin', let's see 'em. Show me them two pairs of you'rn."

Pulling the knife from his cards Mr. Armstrong fans his cards out on the blanket, "Ain't got no two pair, I got me a full house - Aces full of Kings."

The men around the blanket moan, Ringo is beaten, he moans softly too. It's obvious the man doesn't have two pair. Charlie stands watching, and loudly exclaims, "Damn!"

Down on one knee, Ringo removes the blade holding his five cards. Slowly fanning the cards, he sees a Deuce of Clubs, a Deuce of Hearts, a Deuce of Spades and the Jack of Hearts which is no help, the remaining card is still hidden. He moves the cards slightly enough to see a small portion of the right-hand corner; the card is red. Was it the Two of Diamonds? The Two of Diamonds is the only card that can beat the Man With the Bull - the only Two left in the deck - the Deuce of Diamonds gives Ringo Four of a Kind.

Shutting his hand back up he passes the five cards to Hank, "You do it, I can't look."

With Charlie looking on Hank stares at the cards one at a time. Everyone around the table waits anxiously. Ringo watches, the suspense is nerve-racking, "Tell us, tell us what it is?"

Hank nor Charlie's expressions change - evidently, with no look of relief, their faces indicate Ringo's hand cannot beat a Full House.

Hank bends over the table and drops the cards, face up onto the blanket; everyone lunges forward to see - "Two Pair," Hank solemnly announces. Before everyone has a chance to exhale he said triumphantly, "Two Pair of Deuces that is - Four of a Kind!"

JOSHUA

The next morning after breakfast Gus speaks to Hank. "Young fellow, we are taking the train back home. I've sold all my cattle, the men have either drank up or gambled off all their money, so we are ready to go home. Been gone a long time, will be good to get back to my ranch. But that's not why I wanted to talk to you. It concerns that fine whiteface Hereford bull you all won in that poker game last night and you now own. What ya gonna do with him?"

"Yeah," Hank said, "about the bull. We ain't gonna sell Joshua, if that's what you are going to ask me, Gus."

"No, no son. That was not what I want to say to you. I just wanted to know what you had in mind with him?"

"I guess we'll have to turn around and drive him back to Jericho. Don't know much else we can do with him, Jesse needs him on the ranch."

"Hank, I believe I have a solution to your problem. You send a telegram to your folks and have them meet me at the rail station in San Antone three days hence, and I will deliver your bull in person. I've gotta haul all my Vaqueros and their horses, the chuckwagon and the rest of my supplies, so one extra ole bull ain't gonna take up much more space on the train."

"That's very kind of you Sir, but I don't want to put you out. I know you, and your hands will be in a hurry to return home and delivering Joshua will be out of your way. And besides, we have no extra money to pay you for your expenses."

"Nonsense son, my spread is a couple of days ride south of San Antone, we gotta go right through San Antone anyhow. Won't be no trouble at all and I see y'all done stuck a name on that big ole beautiful hunk of beef - Joshua, ah, that's a fitting name for a ranch named Jericho - yep, be glad to get Joshua home to your place, if you'll let me. And don't you worry about the cost, I ain't gonna charge you one thin dime."

"Sir, I'd be mighty obliged," reaching into his coat pocket he hands a slip of paper to Gus. "Here's the bill of sale for Joshua and I'll get off a telegram this morning to Pa. Thank you, Sir, thank you very much."

BAD NEWS?

As Jess runs into the ranch house, he hollers, "Pa I was up in the barn loft, and I see dust from a rider comin' up the road."

"Where's he at son?"

"He's clearly come over the far rise; I'd say he'll be here any minute now. Reckon who he is, Pa?"

"Don't know Son, but we'll find out in a jiffy, he's coming through the Jericho Gate now."

Pulling up to the hitching post in front of the ranch house the rider dismounts, breathing hard he asks, "Looking for Mr. William Scarburg."

Pleasantly Pa said, "You've found him. What can I do for you, young feller?"

"Got a telegram for you, sir," he said handing a scrap of yellow paper to Pa Scarburg. "Sign right here."

"A telegram you say - must be bad news from the boys." Turning toward the house, "Jess run get Ma, tell her we've got bad news from Hank and Charlie."

Roberta and Mamacita walk out onto the porch, "Say we've got bad news?" Bert said drying her hands on her apron. "What's happened Pa? Are they hurt? Dead?"

"Don't know Ma, it's a telegram, but I ain't read it yet. You come do it." Roberta steps from the porch into the yard pulls her spectacles from her apron pocket, then takes the telegram and reads it. She doesn't speak, merely stands with the telegram grasped between her shaking fingers.

"Dead? Dead! I knowed it. Which one Ma? Hank, Charlie, Ringo?"

"Neither Pa. It's from the boys alright; they want you to meet a man, day after tomorrow, at the train platform in San Antone. His name is August Freeman."

"What about Ma?"

"Don't say Pa, definitely said to be there to get Joshua."

"Joshua? Joshua from the Bible? Why? What in the world? You can't get 'Joshua.' He's been dead a thousand years or better. What are those boys up to?"

"Don't know, guess you and Jess will have to go to the train station and find out." Walking back to the porch, Bert removes her glasses and looks at Mamacita, "This doesn't make any sense 'Cita, 'Joshua'? Must be a feller. What do you reckon they mean sending him here?"

"I don't know either," replied the cook, "but I'll say them boys didn't send that telegram for no good reason. Thems three smart headed young men and whoever this Joshua feller is he's bound to be important."

JOSHUA GOING HOME

Standing on the platform at the Fort Worth railhead the three Jericho men wave goodbye to ole Joshua and the good friends they have recently acquired. "Say, Hank, would you not like to see the look on Jess's face when he sees Joshua at the depot in San Antone?" Charlie said laughing.

"Yeah," Hank replies looking forlorn out into the distance.

"What's the matter?" Ringo asks. "Don't you think they will be surprised?"

"Darn sure they will be; I forgot to tell them in my telegram that Joshua was a whiteface bull!"

Chapter Four

STICK 'EM UP

Leaving Fort Worth, they can now turn their attention to the next destination of their journey - the Red River.

The Red River divides Texas from Oklahoma, and the distance is close to one hundred twenty miles from Fort Worth. Based on the assumption that they can ride ten hours a day and average probably forty miles each day, they should be seeing the river in three days, four at the most.

They are on their second day out after leaving Cowtown. The terrain has been relatively flat until late in the afternoon they pass into some low lying hills about thirty miles south of Wichita Falls, Texas. The day has been hot, but not overbearing. However, the sun has taken its toll - the three are not on high alert. They are following a worn, well-traveled trail without expecting any trouble when suddenly two masked riders appear from the brush brandishing big ole Colt handguns.

"Give us that five-hundred-dollars of gold in that leather poke yer totin'," the first outlaw demands.

The second one adds, "And that money y'all won, we'll take it too." Coming to his senses quickly Ringo realizes someone back at the card game in Fort Worth has spread the word of their bag of gold and the money he is carrying. He knows these outlaws are none of the Vaqueros; he had personally spoken to each one as they boarded the train out of Fort Worth. It is obvious these two know they are carrying a five-hundred-dollar bag of gold coins and the winnings from the game.

Ringo can sense these two desperados are amateurs. First, they are waving handguns not shotguns, and second, they came out of the bushes on the east side of the trail. Knowing the bad guys are facing the setting sun and cannot easily see, Ringo slowly slides the leather holding strap from the hammer of his .44 Colt which is nestled snugly in its holster against his hip.

"I'm not going to say this again, give us the gold!" Trump holds his ground and the hair on his neck bristles up.

Before Ringo can make his move Hank speaks up, "Listen fellers think about this for a minute, you don't want to do..."

Before he can finish, Ringo slaps leather, pulls his big iron, .44 hog-leg and begins firing. The lead robber moves slightly, and the shot hits him in the left shoulder knocking him from his horse to the ground. Ringo's next round catches the second ambusher squarely in the center of his chest killing him instantly. Number one is trying to regain his feet attempting to reach his dropped firearm. He is too slow, Ringo's .44 explodes again, this time he does not miss.

As the bandit's last ounce of life is bleeding out on the dusty, Texas trail, Charlie begins to dismount.

"Whoa," said Ringo. "What are you doing? We need to get out of here."

"No," replies Charlie. "What we need to do is bury these two hombres."

"Ringo's right." Hank counters. "We don't have time for a Christian burial, Charlie. Drag these two out into the brush, so they won't be found for days, if ever. We'll take their two horses and gear along, and, Charlie you will trade them in Wichita Falls for more supplies and enough money to pay for a ferry ride across the river. They will assume you stole them."

"Good thinking Hank, hold on, Charlie we'll help you hide these two galoots. Let's hurry before someone comes along." Replies Ringo.

"Hold on, is right! Who do you think you are Hank Scarburg? Getting up on your high horse to say because I am an Indian them town folks would automatically believe I stole those horses, guns, and outfits?"

Jestingly, "They will won't they?"

Charlie thought for a moment, "Yeah, but you do not need to go off saying it."

WICHITA FALLS

"Charlie around this next bend is Wichita. Take the horses to the livery stable. Sell the horses and saddles. Ask the proprietor about the gunsmith shop. Find the gun store and sell the handguns and two rifles."

"Yeah, Hank I can do that, but what are you and Ringo going to be doing in the meantime?"

"Humm, good question, Charlie. I figure you need a good lookout, so me and Ringo are going into town find the saloon, mosey up to the bar, order us some red-eye and a steak and settle down next to the front window to keep an eye out for you."

"So, why I am out getting myself either killed or jailed you two are going to be drinking rotgut and eating steak. Have I got this picture straight?"

"Now, Charlie, don't go off half-cocked. Ringo or I would do it, but you know if two white boys come in off the street selling horses and guns, them towners would get mighty suspicious."

Frowning Charlie adds, "White folks think Indians are all the time stealing other folks horses and stuff. That does kind of make half-baked sense; you two save me a steak before we skedaddle out of town."

Charlie walks his pinto down main street, leading the two outlaws' horses, looking for the livery stable. There is not a corral he can see. Stopping a man crossing the street Charlie asks for directions to the stables, using his best imitation of Indian talk. He said, "Um, me lookum for man with horses."

"Hell, Injun, every man in town has got hisself a horse. Which one you looking for in particular?"

Charlie's brain is moving at breakneck speed; he has to say something intelligent, "Um, man who sell 'em and buy 'em horses, man who feed 'em horses, man who can trade 'em horses. That horse man Chief Charlie look 'em for."

"Oh, the livery stable. You slightly missed it. Back one street, turn to your left. Left? Oh, I see. Left is the side your holding your reins in."

THE LIVERY STABLE

"See here, Injun what can I do for you?" Asks the owner of the Wichita Livery and Freight yard. "Don't normally allow your kind around, but yer leading two pretty good lookin' mounts. What's yer intent?"

"Um," said Charlie. "Me want 'em to sell horses and saddles for hard, cash money. Charlie know white man ways, Charlie no want to be cheated."

"Tell you what Injun, them looks like they ain't been wore out I'll give you twenty for each horse and saddle. Let's say forty dollars, hard cash, for the whole shooting match."

"Um," said Charlie. "That make 'em good deal, Charlie take um."

The livery owners digs deep into his pocket and hands Charlie two double-eagles. Charlie takes each one and bites on it to prove it is real gold and said, "Um, Charlie likeum gold cash money, where is man that buy 'em and sell 'em guns?"

"Now look here Injun, sellin' horses is one thing, but sellin' guns to an Injun is another. There is a gunsmith in town, but he won't do no business with you. Say, you never did say where you got these two animals, and you got some guns too?"

"Um, Charlie find two dead gold lookers. They have 'um no use for horses or guns, Charlie take."

"Oh, dead gold prospectors huh? Yeah, I see. I might be interested in them guns of you'rn, what you got."

After the trade, Charlie rides back up the main street with three double-eagles jingling in his pocket. He grins, 'Liveryman believes he slicked ole dumb Injun,' thinks Charlie. 'Now, where is that saloon and Hank and old Ringo? '

Chapter Five

THE RED RIVER

It is late afternoon on the sixth day out of Fort Worth as the three sit astride their horses on a slight rise south of the big river - the Red River. They are still in Texas, but they are close enough to see the wind riffling through the tall grass on the Oklahoma side.

As they look down into the valley, they can see the river is much too full. Recent storms upriver are sending excessive amounts of water flowing down Big Red.

"Just think," said Hank, "this time tomorrow we'll be in a new state. If we can get across this flooded river." Pulling his hat from his head and holding it high in the air he yells, "Yippee, Oklahoma!... You know fellers I ain't never been out of the state of Texas."

"Heck," said Charlie, "I never been off of Jericho but one time, and that was when Pa carried us to Austin. Man, I thought that was something, but tomorrow Oklahoma!" For the next couple of seconds, all he and Hank can do is wave their hats and holler 'Yippee,' over and over.

Looking at the brothers Ringo comments, "And I thought I was a hayseed." He adds, "All this darn yelling and we don't even know if we can get across into Oklahoma."

They bed down for a restless night of sleep in a grove of cottonwood trees to wait morning when they will search the flooded river for the ferry. Charlie was afraid while he was in Wichita Falls to ask specific directions to the ferry, fearful someone might recognize the outlaw's horses at the livery stable or one of the pistols and rifles. Since he asked no questions about the Red River ferry he figured there would be no reason to suspect he was headed north into Oklahoma.

Morning comes early when they're lying on a thin horse blanket using their saddles for a pillow, and the roof over their head is a black peppered sky with more stars than all three of them can ever count. Up early is nothing new to Charlie. It must be his Indian blood; he considers it late if the sun has beaten him up. This morning is no exception; he has coffee brewing and bacon frying when Hank and Ringo decide to join him barely as the sun is beginning to peek its yellow head over the eastern horizon.

"Say, Hank," asks Charlie, taking a sip of his coffee, "you suppose we can turn and follow this ridgeline? We might come upon the road leading from Wichita Falls to the river." Up to then, they have been traveling cross country, afraid to use the main road thinking someone might have found the two dead outlaws and the sheriff could be on their trail. They realized if they could slip into Oklahoma undetected they would be free from the law. They could make better time on a road, rather than traveling cross country.

Hank didn't respond to Charlie right away he sat looking into his coffee cup contemplating their next move. Realizing this was their best route - Hank states merely, "Right! That's good advice, Charlie. After breakfast, we'll break camp and head northwest until we find the road to the river."

"Say, Hank, what's the plan once we get across?" asks Ringo.

"Pa said to head north to Dodge City, Kansas from there we'll head farther north into Nebraska then even farther north into the Sioux country of the Dakotas, and horse country."

"How far you figure?"

"Pa checked it out on a map - roughly nine-hundred miles."

"How long, you figure?"

"At least a month or better if we are lucky. Anyway, enough talking, let's get going we're burning daylight," said Hank.

THE CROSSING

It was up into the morning before they stumble across the dirt trail leading to the river. A few fellow travelers are already pushing their wagons and horses in that direction.

Ambling up to one wagon Hank asks, "What you hear about the flood?"

The driver replied that all he has heard is the recent rains up north have flooded ole Red, and no one knows where the ferry is. The last anyone saw it was floating down the river empty.

"That sounds bad. How do we get across then?" Hank inquires.

"We don't until someone finds the ferry and brings it back upstream."

After asking, the driver said this ordeal might take a couple of weeks or so before the ferry is back in operation. And that depends upon the flooded nature of the river, whether it rises more or the waters begin to recede.

A couple of hours later they reach the edge of the flooded waters - as far as the eye can see upstream and downstream are dozens and dozens of stranded travelers. Wagons are parked in every direction, and the inhabitants have established campsites as though they intend to be here for a while.

Hank, Charlie, and Ringo walk their horses among the scattered wagons looking for an open place to make their camp. They know it is useless to travel up or down the river, there is no way to cross unless the water goes down. Even if someone finds the ferry, it will not make the river crossing, and besides, there are dozens ahead of them waiting for the ferry to get across to the other side too.

They find an open spot to make camp. Later on that evening after they have supper, a stranger wanders into camp, leading a pack mule. "Saw your fire and wondered if I might warm up a bit? My old bones don't take to this night air like they used to."

"Come in stranger," said Hank. "You are a welcome guest to our fire. How about a hot cup of coffee? Notice I didn't say anything about it being good, but it is hot."

Dressed in Indian gear almost identical to Charlie - buckskins, moccasins, a large Bowie knife at his waist; however, a coonskin cap covers his head. He is an Indian like Charlie, a reformed Apache. He said he is called Indian Joe and makes his living trapping across the river in the Oklahoma territory. He has a daughter living in Texas that has given birth to his grandson, and he has come across to Texas to see his family. "You ought'ta see the little feller, spitting image of his grandpa," he said with a grin.

He asks if it would be agreeable to fire up his pipe, which is agreed upon of course, and he asks what is their plans to attack the river?

The boys have no answer.

Indian Joe threw out the proposition that it is possible to go upriver, find a grove of cottonwood trees cut down enough to construct a raft and float across to the other side. He said he has an ax, rope, and a machete on his pack mule and the know how to construct such a contraption, he needs them to lend him their muscle power. What do they think?

Hank, Charlie, and Ringo sit in amazement looking at each other and decide Indian Joe's idea is a heck better than sitting on the river bank for another week or two waiting on the ferry. They tell Joe he has a work crew, and they want to know when do they get started?

"If you let me bed down beside your good, warm campfire we'll be off first thing in the morning, suit you?"

THE RAFT

An hour or so after leaving the crowd at the river Indian Joe leads them northward up the river until they are once again alone. Indian Joe takes the lead and is keeping his eyes on the lookout for a good stand of cottonwood for the raft. At the next bend in the river, he finds an enormous grove of trees. Enough cottonwood to build a hundred rafts. "There she is," announces Indian Joe. "Here's where we get to build our ark."

After setting up a campsite Hank speaks to Joe, "Can I ask you a question, Indian Joe, how big is this raft gonna be? We got four people, four horses, a mule, and one dog, not counting our gear."

Indian Joe answers Hank by saying the raft only has to be big enough for the four of them, Trump their dog, and all their gear. They will tie the animals to the raft, and since they will be floating downstream and across at the same time, there will be little or no swimming that the animals will have to do. All they have to do is hang on and keep their heads above water.

"If you say so," said Hank, "let's get to work."
Chapter Six

A COUPLE OF DAYS EARLIER

As the two sit on the seat of the wagon, Jesse turns to his Pa, "Pa who you reckon this Joshua feller is anyway?"

"Don't rightly know son, I suppose he's some feller the boys knew, but I've never heard nobody called Joshua, 'cept in the Bible; however, San Antone is over this next hill, we'll find out about 'em soon enough." A few months earlier the railroad had been completed through Austin south to San Antonio, but the marshaling yards for the incoming herds of cattle are still being worked on. A few corrals are ready, but hundreds have to be prepared for the vast herds that will eventually arrive for cattle shipments north.

"There she is," said Pa Scarburg, pointing toward the railroad station. "We'll be there in a few minutes, and we'll find out about all this fuss. Guess we'll find out who this feller Joshua is too, wonder what he wants? And why did the boys send him here?"

As they near the train station, they can plainly see no one is waiting on the platform. In fact, they cannot see anyone at all except a couple of railroad men working on a handcart turned on its side. Dozens of corrals have been completed, but they seem to be empty, at least the ones they can see are.

William stops his wagon in front of the station. He turns to Jesse, "What is the day of the week?"

"What? The day of the week? What has that got to do with anything Pa?"

William pulls the telegram from his pocket and rereads the message, "It said here to meet Mr. August Freeman and Mr. Joshua in two days here at the rail station. Now we got the telegram on Monday, so what is today?"

"Wednesday," replied Jesse. "Pa, today is Wednesday."

"So, we're at the right place, and on the right day, where are these fellers. I'll go inside and ask the rail clerk."

In a couple of minutes, Pa returns steps up onto the wagon, "The clerk said the train pulled in around noon with a man named Freeman and this Mr. Freeman left a note for me."

"What did it read, Pa?"

"Don't know, haven't read it yet. Here son, open this envelope and see what it has to say."

Jesse opens the envelope takes out the paper and reads, 'Sorry, Mr. Scarburg the train arrived early. We cannot wait, must board the train leaving, Joshua awaits out back, boys send their regards. Good luck, August Freeman.'

"What!" cries, William. "Left out back? What kind of man is this Freeman feller, a savage? Come Jess we have to hurry around there and greet Mr. Joshua. What kind of a Texas welcome does he think this is?"

Both leap from the seat of the wagon and hurry down the train platform to the end of the building. There is no one on the platform on the north side of the building either. They see nothing but hear the bawling of a bull in one of the corrals.

Back inside William speaks harshly to the rail clerk, "Sir, what is the meaning of this? This Mr. Freeman said he left a Mr. Joshua out back. We've been out back. There is no Mr. Joshua, nothing but a large, ornery, outraged bull."

"Yes sir, I'm afraid you're right. That fuming, mad bull is Joshua. He evidently hated riding on the train. And he sure nuff don't like bein' hemmed up in that corral. You're welcome to him. In fact, you're more'n welcome to him! He's almost destroyed our new corral. Take him now and git him the heck out of here, before we got to start building fences all over again."

Looking at each other, "Joshua ain't a feller he's...hes... a beautiful whiteface bull?" Jesse said.

Chapter Seven

CONSTRUCTION

Hank and Charlie are busy cutting cottonwood trees. After hauling them to the construction site Indian Joe and Charlie are lashing them together making the raft. "At this rate," said Indian Joe, "I believe we'll have her finished by sundown. We should be able to shove off first thing tomorrow morning."

As it turns out Indian Joe is correct, they tie the last cottonwood log on the raft as the sun is setting in the western sky. Charlie had knocked off an hour or so earlier and has a fire blazing, coffee boiling and enough beans, bacon and biscuits cooked for a decent supper.

The day's labor has been exhausting, and everyone is ready to hit their bedrolls as soon as they swallow the last tad of coffee. Before Hank lies down, he speaks to Indian Joe, "One more question, Joe, be honest, just how dangerous is this trip going to be tomorrow?"

"Hank, I didn't want to worry you earlier, but trying to navigate a flood-swollen river on a sizable ferry boat would be a serious undertaking. On a raft...in any case, we've got to be mighty careful...mighty careful. What was that?"

"What is it, Joe?" Trump is on his feet, ears standing tall, he hears it too and begins to growl.

"There...there it is again. We got a horse coming in." Joe said pointing in the direction of the noise.

Hank squints into the darkness and sees a horse and rider approaching. "'Nite gents didn't mean to startle you, clearly saw your fire from a distance."

"Kinda late to be visiting, what can we do for you?"

"For me? Nothing, no I come by to tell you I noticed you ridin' with an Injun. I rode up from the ferry crossing to warn you there is Texas Rangers checkin' through the wagons and tents lookin' for a Redskin. They say he killed a couple of fellers yonder side of Wichita Falls and sold their horses and gear in town. Only wanted y'all to know. I ain't never took to them law dogs, as I say, just in case yer interested." He never dismounts, he merely touches the brim of his Stetson, turns and rides back out into the darkness.

Looking at Hank Joe asks, "What you make of that?"

"Ah, who knows, always somebody gettin' killed, here and there, let's get some sleep."

The next morning they finish breakfast and sit drinking the last of the coffee, "Think it's about time to get started, Joe?" Asks Hank.

"No, not yet, Hank. Let's give 'er another hour or so, let's wait for good daylight. We need to be able to see everything floating about us in that river." Then he continues, "Say, Hank, about that stranger that rode in last night..."

Cutting him off, Hank looks at Indian Joe, "Joe, I want to say thank-you before we shove off. I know this is a pretty risky venture we are about to take, but without you, we never would have been able to make a try at the river. Thanks again."

"You're right, Hank, what we're about to do is perilous, and I want to add something. If for some reason we are separated, you will be out of Comanche country and into Kiowa territory once we hit the other side. You won't be on the main road, but traveling cross country. My one piece of advice: never trust the Kiowa. Keep on the lookout at all times and leave one man on guard at night. Them Kiowa Braves is mean fellers, watch 'em close. Oh, one last thing - I can't swim."

The raft is ready; it sits at the water's edge. Indian Joe tells them to push on his count, "One, two, three," the raft is floating. "Tie the animals off and git aboard," instructs Joe.

Joe has attached a tiller made out of a piece of flat driftwood, and once everyone is on board, it is his job to steer this large, unyielding boat across the swollen river.

For the first half, or so, of the crossing, everything goes smoothly. The waters are calm, and the raft is drifting downstream and slowly making its way toward the far shore. The mule and the horses are not having much fun, swimming clearly isn't in their nature, but they are managing to keep their heads above water. Hank, Charlie, Ringo, and Trump sit on the raft hanging on the best they can; Indian Joe is doing a fine job working the tiller; however, he has to stand.

'Darn,' thought Hank, 'this ain't gonna be as bad as Joe thought. We gonna make it over with...' before he can finish his thought a large chunk of drifting flotsam, approaching from upriver, rams into the raft knocking Indian Joe head over heels into the muddy water.

"Help! Help!" Yells Joe holding his arm high in the air, "I can't swim!" Without a moment's hesitation Ringo jerks off his boots and pistol belt, and jumps headfirst into the murky waters, but Joe's head has now gone below the surface. Trump jumps in right behind Ringo. Joe emerges once, gagging and spitting water, but disappears once again, this time he does not resurface. Ringo sucks in a large breath of air and dives under in an attempt to grab Joe.

He emerges in a second or two hanging onto Indian Joe and yells, "I've got 'em!" Then they both go under again. Trump is thrashing around doing his best to assist the two drowning men, clearly doing no good what-so-ever. Hank and Charlie peer into the dirty waters trying to get another glimpse of the two men struggling to stay afloat. They see no one except Trump, whose attempts at helping is fruitless.

Alas, it is hopeless - they never resurface. Hank and Charlie cannot believe it - gone! Indian Joe and Ringo, both of them - drown! After dragging Trump aboard Hank and Charlie lie down on the raft agonizing over their loss. Charlie covers his eyes with his hands and begins a soft, quiet Indian prayer; Hank moans, "No, no!"

Much later the leading edge of the raft bumps into something substantial. Both Hank and Charlie still lie on the cottonwood poles of the raft, neither has moved since watching the tragedy of the drowning. Hank sits up to see what they have encountered - it is the muddy river bank on the Oklahoma shore. They have drifted across the flooded river into shallow enough water that the animals are trying to walk ashore. Charlie unties all of the horses and the ole mule and lets them wander free upon the dry ground - they aren't going anywhere. Trump jumps into the water and swims the last few feet following the horses.

Once the raft is secure Hank and Charlie collapse in the soft, sweet grass of Oklahoma exhausted. "Hank?" said Charlie, "what are we going to do now?"

Hank shakes his head, "We go on, just you and me, we go on Charlie, just go on."

"But Hank, Ringo was the one that knew where to go up in the Dakotas. We do not even know where the Dakotas are. I do not know Hank, I do not know, maybe we really ought to go back home," lamented Charlie.

"North Charlie, we'll continue north until we get to Dodge City and then we'll ask somebody which way to the Dakotas. That's about all I know to do. Besides Charlie even if we could manage to get back across to Texas, those Rangers, would be on you faster than a swarm of flies to a pile of fresh horse manure."

They saddle the horses, pack the supplies along with Ringo's boots and pistol belt on the mule and do as Hank said - they head north. "Come on Trump, time to go little buddy."
Chapter Eight

JOSHUA' S HOMECOMING

Joshua spots his first longhorn cow a mile or two before reaching Jericho. Pa and Jesse turn into the long drive leading to the ranch house passing beneath the Jericho Gate. This turn must signal Joshua he is being led away from the herd of cattle he has spied along the road, and he begins to bawl and pull on his lead rope trying desperately to escape.

Jesse loops Joshua's lead rope around his saddle horn to keep him from pulling away. "Hang on Joshua; I'll have you lose in the pasture before you know it. Them ole cows will still be there. "

"Judging by his reaction to our longhorn cows it ain't gonna be long before you're gonna have the start of your whiteface herd," said Pa laughing.

By the time Pa and Jesse arrive at the house, Bert and Mamacita are standing on the front porch. "My, my," said Roberta, "what kind of a critter is that y'all are draggin' up behind you? And where are its horns?"

Pa steps from the wagon, removes his hat and waves toward the bull, "Roberta, Mamacita, Jess and me would like to introduce you to...to... Joshua."

"Is he...is he..." Roberta tried to speak.

"Yep, he's one of them purebred, whiteface Hereford bulls that Jesse has been beating our ears off about."

"You two put him in the pasture and come on into the house we've almost got supper on the table. I know you two are starved for a good home cooked meal."

As they eat Bert asks, "It's been long enough, now give us the story of Joshua."

"Bert, we'd sure like to, but I'm afraid you know about as much about that ornery ole bull as we do. When Jess and me got to the railroad station all we found was Joshua and a note from Mr. Gus Freeman. Mr. Freeman had already left."

"Where did Joshua come from?"

"We don't know; Mr. Freeman's note didn't say, but it did say 'the boys send their regards.' So I guess they have something to do with Joshua, but what? I haven't the foggiest."

Jesse adds, "Joshua might not be ours to keep, but we're gonna make good use of him while he's here, right Pa?"

Chuckling, "Right, son."

"You know, Pa; I got to thinking," said Jesse.

"About what, Son?"

"Now that we got one of them whiteface Herefords, we don't need those ponies from up north do we, Sir? I'm thinking instead of three to five years we'll have us a herd of them whitefaces a lot quicker. How long do you think before we'll be seeing some of Joshua's little calves, Pa?"

"If the way he acted upon arrival was any indication I'd say we should start to see them in two hundred eighty-three days. That's the gestation period for a new calve. Almost nine and a half months from now."

"So you're saying by this time next year we should have them little fellers popping up all over the place."

"Yeah, that's right," Pa could see Jesse had something on his mind. "So, what is it you're saying?"

"I'm simply thinking we ought to start devoting all Jericho's manpower and resources toward developing my herd and forget about Hank and Charlie's pie-in-the-sky Indian pony idea."

"Your herd?" Pa responds sharply.

"Sure, my herd. Jericho is going to be mine one day anyway, I'm the oldest, and I merely want to see that it's started off with my approach and not spend wasted time on Hank and Charlie's notions."

"You are pretty sure of yourself aren't you Son? I wouldn't be counting my chickens, or in this case, calves, before they're born. Let's wait and see what Hank and Charlie bring home. They will also have a say in who the Ranch belongs to after I'm gone too. I'm pretty sure the law of primogeniture went out when we gave the King and his Redcoats their thrashing back in 1812."

Chapter Nine

SURPRISE!

Over the next few days, Hank and Charlie ride north through Oklahoma toward Dodge City, Kansas. Not much conversation has taken place since leaving the flooded Red River. Neither wants to speak about Ringo and Indian Joe. The drowning has traumatized them. Yesterday they got up, packed their mule, mounted their horses and continued on north. They did not even eat breakfast, did not stop for the noon meal and rode until long after dark. The only stops made during the day were to water the horses and mule. All day as they rode neither wanted to talk. By not speaking the drowning wasn't real.

Stopping for the night allows the animals to graze and drink. As far as Hank and Charlie are concerned, they put their saddle blankets on the ground, flop their saddles down, lie down and within minutes are fast asleep.

Hank is sickened by the happening that tragic day, but he also cannot dismiss the arrival of that stranger the night before they began their fateful river crossing. He had warned them of the presence of the Texas Rangers in search of an Indian murderer. 'Of course,' thinks Hank, 'they must be looking for Charlie.' But, his logic kept telling him the Rangers have no jurisdiction north of the Red River in Oklahoma. 'But what,' he continues, 'if the Rangers have put out wanted posters, and are offering a sizeable reward, any bounty hunter might be on their trail.' This paranoia causes Hank to see shadows of lawmen behind every bush or lying in the grass around every bend in the trail. He has already lost Ringo; he surely can't let Charlie go too.

This trail they are using is not the main road leading north. Hank deliberately picks a seldom-used wagon road in case someone is after Charlie. He is not going to make it easy for them.

It is nearing sundown on the third day as the sound of rolling wheels is heard approaching from their rear, then the whinny of a horse. "Pull up, Charlie; I hear someone coming up on us. Slip into the bushes behind those rocks, and we'll hide until they pass."

Sitting their horses as quietly as humanly possible the two watch as the wagon nears. The sun is setting, and in the dim light, it is difficult to see clearly who is riding in the wagon seat. Hank can make out two figures up front and another man riding in the rear. 'Who are they?' he wonders. 'They are not lawmen. Lawmen would be riding horses; even bounty hunters would have mounts to ride.'

As the wagon moves toward their hiding place, the sound of the voices of the two men sitting on the seat drifts to Hank's ear. "What are they saying?" he whispers to Charlie.

Charlie shrugs his shoulders and mouths 'I do not know.'

'That voice,' thinks Hank, 'I have heard that voice before.' Suddenly Hank dashes from his place of concealment out onto the road. His unexpected movement startles Charlie, "Hank come back! What are you doing? Someone will see you."

The voice from the wagon shouts, "Halt, identify yourself! Stay where you are, or I'll shoot!"

Turning back toward Charlie, "Come out! Come out! There is someone I want you to see!" Hank begins to run toward the wagon, one of the men up front jumps to the ground, .44 in his hand, and the rider in back bounds from the wagon bed to the dirt on the wagon path. It appears Hank is in serious trouble, and about to be shot, but instead, Hank grabs the first man and hugs him tightly.

It is too dark for Charlie to see the face of the person Hank is squeezing, but he hears Hank yell again to come out on the road. Cautiously he walks Lil Sue out, still not being able to see the mysterious strangers.

"Hey, you ole Injun!" What in the heck you up to?" Astounded, Charlie almost fell off Lil Sue. He quickly recognizes the voice; it is Ringo. Right behind him is Indian Joe.

Ringo and Indian Joe, both are alive.

WOODROW JACKSON

Hank grabs Ringo by both shoulders and pushes him back to arm's length so that he can look at him. "Man, it's good to see you, Ringo." Over Ringo's shoulder he yells, "and you too, Indian Joe. We thought you both were goners for sure."

"Good to see y'all too," said Ringo, "me and Indian Joe have been chasing you two for the last few days hopin' to catch up. Oh, sorry, this feller we've been riding with is Woodrow Jackson." Turning, "Woodrow, meet my two best friends, Hank and Charlie Scarburg, of the Jericho Ranch out of San Antone, Texas. By the way, y'all didn't happen to bring my boots and pistol? I been barefoot since we left the river."

"Nice to meet you, Woodrow, come on we'll set up camp over here and y'all can explain how you're still alive, and yeah, Ringo, we have your boots and gun."

Later as they sit around the fire, Ringo explains how he and Indian Joe had been pulled from the river by Woodrow. Woodrow saved their lives. He further describes how Woodrow is an old retired Texas Ranger, and he is familiar with saving folks since this was part of his job. Woodrow had been on his way into Texas, but fortunately for them, he was blocked on the Oklahoma side by the flood. They luckily happened to wash up, both unconscious, close to the spot where Woodrow had set up camp.

"Interesting tale," said Hank, 'Woodrow has not been over to the Texas side, so he's not aware the law is after Charlie, that's good. No not good! That's great.' he thinks grinning.

Ringo continues, "After Woodrow revived me and Indian Joe, I told him about you two being on the raft during our unsuccessful effort at the river crossing he decides to assist us in the attempt to find you both. He said no use waiting for the river to go down. He wants to git back home to his family anyway."

Up until now, Mr. Jackson has not spoken. "Friends, I'm so glad Ringo and Indian Joe were able to find you both because I have a warning for you all - the Kiowa are on the warpath. A few years ago the U.S. government made a treaty with their chiefs, but the Army has recently broken this agreement. The Kiowa have painted their faces, and they have it out for any white man they can find. They are conducting a killing spree on a giant scale. A lot of the families in western Oklahoma have either been murdered or have uprooted their families and fled. That was my reason to travel to Texas - I had located a new place to live and was carrying a load of household goods down there before moving the family."

"Thanks, Woodrow, I hate it for the troubles the people have suffered, but I'm glad you were there to save Ringo and Indian Joe. But, about this Indian problem, what do you suggest we do?"

"For now, I beg you, be on alert, those Kiowa could be anywhere, and if we run up on 'em, they won't spare our lives, so have your guns loaded, and at the ready. I've got to get home to my family. If y'all would tag along, my ranch won't be out of your way to Dodge City; I would be most appreciative. It is much safer if we all stay together. "

They have been on the trail for a couple of hours, and Hank riding point comes galloping back, "Woodrow, I got a glimpse of a pinto pony a little piece up the trail. It wasn't wild, I could make out a leather halter over its head and reins drooping to the ground, but I didn't see anybody, just that brown and white horse. It looked a lot like Lil Sue, Charlie." Looking back at Woodrow, "Reckon them Kiowa is waiting for us?"

"Naw," replies Woodrow, "The Kiowa are too smart for such as that, you'd never see one of their horses 'til they jump you. You fellers ride on ahead and check it out, but be real careful. I'll be followin' along in the wagon."

When Woodrow catches up Hank, Charlie, Ringo, and Indian Joe are bending over what appears to be a young Indian boy, lying on the ground. Jumping from the wagon, Woodrow hurries to the boy's side, he is unconscious, but upon further examination, they find his leg is broken. "His horse musta throwed him," offers Indian Joe.

"That's unusual, for an Indian kid," said Woodrow. "Something musta spooked his pony. Shhh, listen, there's the culprit." They could hear the sinister rattle, the rattle of a Western Diamondback Rattlesnake."

Ringo pulls his gun, "No, no don't shoot, you'll alert us to the Kiowa. This kid belongs to their band, and I can assure you they are in the area close by." Charlie slips his Bowie knife from his belt takes careful aim and throws it at the reptile, completely severing its head along with its deadly venomous fangs.

"I have a bedstead in the wagon with wooden slats, go get me a couple of the slats, we'll use them for splints. One of y'all hold this young'un's shoulders down, I'm gonna set this little heathen's leg. Good thing he's knocked out, he's not gonna feel the pain."

A while later, back on the trail, the Indian boy's leg is splinted, and he lies on the mattress in the wagon riding comfortably.

Woodrow suggests pulling off the path, make camp under the shade of a large elm tree, and grab a bite and let the horses rest. They leave the Indian boy, still unconscious in the wagon. A small fire is started using very dry wood so as not to create any smoke that might alert any Kiowa in the vicinity. Their meal consists of hot coffee, hardtack biscuits, and jerky. Returning to the wagon, they discover the Indian boy and his pony have vanished. While they were eating no one notices him slip from the wagon, untie his horse, and disappear into the brush. "Cheerfully," said Hank, "guess he isn't hurt too bad after all."

"No use trying to find him," said Woodrow, "let's get back on the trail, we're only ten miles from my ranch."

Returning to their journey north, an hour or so later Woodrow tells them his place is around the next bend. "What was that?" Charlie asks. No one else hears anything, but his ears seem to be tuned an octave higher than most white folks.

"There, I heard it," said Hank. "That's gunfire!"

Woodrow slaps the reins against the horse's flanks, "Giddy up!" The rest spur their horses and ride toward the gunfire coming from Woodrow's ranch. As the house comes into view, they can see dozens of Kiowa circling, yelling, screaming and shooting toward the folks who have barricaded themselves in the ranch house. Woodrow's family is giving as good as they are receiving, but they are grossly outnumbered. Woodrow, Hank, Charlie, Ringo and Indian Joe rush headlong into the melee shooting to the right and left at the marauding Indians as fast and furious as their firearms would allow.

They have killed four or five Kiowa warriors before reaching the house. Woodrow's wife and children are uninjured, but one of his ranch hands is dead, and another is wounded.

Their supply of ammunition is low, and one more charge by the Kiowa braves should do them in, said Woodrow. He has no sooner spoken these words when outside the Indians begin whooping and hollering at the top of their lungs; this is their final charge.

The dust clears, but the smoke from the burning ranch house fills the air. The fight is over. Hank and Woodrow are each tied to a wagon wheel, spread eagle fashion. Hank is fastened to one of the front wheels, and Woodrow is tied to the one on the back. It is unclear where Charlie and Ringo are. Trump is hiding in the nearby woods.

"Hank, can you hear me?" said Woodrow, grimacing in pain.

"Yeah, Woodrow, I can barely hear you. Do you see any of the others?"

Before he could reply another voice answers, "Hey Hank," it is Charlie, "me and Ringo are tied on this side of the wagon. I can see Indian Joe tied to a tree, but he looks either dead or unconscious. He is not moving."

"Charlie," said Woodrow, "do you see my wife and kids?"

"Yes, those Kiowa took all of them into the barn. They are piling hay around the outside and setting alight torches; I believe they are going to burn the barn with all the folks inside."

Woodrow struggles frantically with his ropes trying to free himself, but it is useless. He realizes there is nothing he or any of the others can do; the Kiowa are going to kill them - after they get through having their fun with the torture. He figures they will begin cutting pieces of skin from their bodies and keep them barely alive as the savages play their sick little games until they eventually die.

Woodrow speaks a little Kiowa, and he knows enough to understand what they are saying. Two Indians have squatted down beside him, and one has drawn his sharp knife, and the other has Woodrow by the hair. The first warrior said to the second, "Let's start with this white eyes first," then reaches with his knife to make the first cut.

He is about to make the first slash when the Kiowa chief orders his warriors to stop. Woodrow is astonished, 'Why? Why are they stopping.' The Chief barks orders to the other Indians, and they begin setting free all the hostages. The Kiowa open the barn and let the captives come out. 'What's happening? Woodrow wonders.

All the Indian victims gather in the open front yard of the house, huddled together. Speaking quietly, Woodrow tells Hank, "Fellers I guess this is it. I believe our time has finally come; these murdering heathens are gettin' ready to finish us off. Thank the Good Lord, it looks like they are gonna make it quick."

The Chief walks out in their midst and begins to talk. The Kiowa Chief looks at the captives, waves his arms in the air, and then gestures toward the young man being supported on a homemade crutch standing at his side. The Chief talks louder and gestures more as he speaks. Hank, said to Woodrow, "What in the heck is the Chief goin' on about? Huh, Woodrow?"

"The Chief is telling his Braves that we are to be set free and they are not to bother us again."

"Why? Why Woodrow would they be willing to set us free?"

"The young boy is the Chief's son - he is thanking us for rescuing his only son on the trail. The boy told his father how we saved him from the rattlesnake and how we put the wooden sticks on his leg to help him. For our humane gesture, the Kiowa are sparing our lives."

"You mean," asks Charlie, "the Chief is letting us go?"

"Charlie, yes that is exactly what the Chief is saying, you, Hank, Ringo, and Indian Joe are free to go on to Dodge City. Thank you for all your help, be safe my dear friends."

Chapter Ten

DODGE CITY, KANSAS

Hank, Charlie, Ringo, and Indian Joe walk their horses four abreast past Boot Hill and enter Broad Street, the main street in town. Broad Street boasts the usual array of saloons, gambling halls, and brothels, including the famous Long Branch Saloon.

Even though it is late in the day, many pedestrians still wander across in their front, and many more walk the wooden, plank sidewalks.

"So, this is Dodge City?" comments Hank. "Quite busy for a late afternoon, I'd say."

"Got to remember Hank," replies Ringo, "today is Saturday. Everyone from miles around will be in town today. Saturday is the only day most ranchers and farmers get a chance to come to town."

Off to their right, they hear the keys of an old dance hall piano beating out a frolicsome tune and the laugh of dozens of drunken cowboys and giggling saloon girls. All the merriment is coming from the Long Branch. Even in Texas, the Long Branch is known to have a reputation of drinking, gambling, dance hall girls, and gunfights. Texas cowboys from previous cattle drives to Dodge City return to Texas with yarns that are probably greatly exaggerated, but now the confirmation of those wild accounts can be proven just a mere dozen feet away.

"Say," said Indian Joe, "how 'bout let's tie up our hosses to this hitching rail, and I'll buy you fellers a drink in the Long Branch. I sure am dry from all them miles on the trail and all that Injun fightin'."

"Hold up there cowboys," shouts a voice from the street. His hand resting snuggly on his pistol strapped low on his right hip. By his words and action, he seems ready to back up his words by using the .44 Colt sitting in its holster. "This is a peaceable town, and I won't stand for no trouble. Any disturbances from you cowpunchers and you'll find yourself in our local calaboose. Is that clear?"

"Yeah," answers Hank, "We ain't cowpokes, just travelers passing through this town. We ain't done nothing, just been minding our own business. How 'bout you doin' the same. Who you anyway, to be ordering us around? Threatening to throw us in jail?"

"Earp...Wyatt Earp! I'm the Marshal here. I've got a good mind to take your side arms until you leave town."

Ringo steps his horse forward a stride or two and slips the leather strap from his pistol's hammer, "Yeah, that might take a little more doin' than you bargain for. You must not have counted Earp; there's four of us and only one of you!"

From the shadows on the sidewalk, a voice replies, "Make that two, and my double-barrel shotgun will make it three and four!" It was Doc Holliday. "I do say, it appears we have an even fight. You fellows ready to get it on?"

"Fine Marshall, fine," said Ringo, "no reason to git riled up, we're just going' into the Long Branch, have a drink then get something to eat."

Earp said removing his hand from his gun, "Nothin' wrong with that, y'all just mind what you do and don't cause any trouble."

"Right, Marshal, we'd like a place to bed down for the night, and we'll be off first light tomorrow. Just need to stable our horses for the night too."

"Go up Freemon Street, here next to the Long Branch, to the O.K. Corral and see Henry. You can feed, water and stable your horses for four-bits a night. Another couple of bits and he'll let y'all bunk on the hay in his loft."

O. K. CORRAL

Hank is pulling money from his pocket to pay Henry when they hear a commotion in the adjacent lot next to the O.K. Corral. The Clanton boys and Billy Claiborne along with the two McLaury brothers are drunk shooting off their mouths about how they are going to kill the Marshal. The boys from Texas did not realize at the time, but for several weeks the Clantons had threatened to kill Marshal Earp. Earp had been waiting for the Clantons to come into town, and then he is going to see if they can back up their boasts. The Marshal has his brothers Morgan and Virgil along with Doc Holliday come along to confront the gang of desperados.

When Wyatt approaches the braggarts they are only ten feet apart; no one knows who fires first, but a shot rings out. Gunfire is coming fast and furious from both directions, Hank and the others run to aid the Marshal. After a few minutes of intense back and forth gunplay, it is unclear who is left standing - the blue smoke hangs thick in the air. As the air clears, it is evident that the McLaury's have run off. The Clanton's along with Billy Claiborne stood their ground and are all killed. Morgan Earp has a bullet hole in the shoulder, and Virgil takes one in the calf of his leg. Doc Holliday is just grazed, but none of the Texas bunch has sustained as much as a scratch.

Turning to Hank, Charlie, Ringo, and Indian Joe who are still standing with their smoking guns in their hands, Marshal Earp said, "Thanks for the help men, couldn't have done it without you. Come into the Long Branch, and we'll get Doc Adams to bandage up Morgan and Virgil, and I'll buy you boys all the whiskey you can drink."

Emerging from a back room where Doc has bandaged them up, Morgan and Virgil along with Wyatt, sit down at a table with Doc Holliday and the Texas boys. "Men," said Wyatt, "Me, Virgil, Morgan, and Doc sure did appreciate your help out there. Without you, I don't know if we could've taken that Clanton gang. Let me buy y'all another round and say if there's anything we can ever do for y'all just say the word, and by the way, I'm sorry for the hassle I give you when y'all first rode into town."

"Thanks, Marshal, we appreciate that. Think nothing of it."

Waving his arm in the air, "Miss Kitty, whiskey for all these men. What's y'all's business in Dodge if I might inquire?"

"Horses, Marshal we've come up from Texas to get us some breeding stock of Indian Mustang ponies. We want to breed'em with our Texas Quarter horses and get a strong, long-winded line for the Calvary," said Hank.

Marshal Earp agreed that is a splendid idea; however Doc Holliday butts in, "Boys I've been all the way into the Dakotas, played a lot of cards in Deadwood and know them Sioux Injuns up that way pretty good, but you can't deal with them direct. They don't trust white men. You'll have to find someone they trust and let them deal with the Injuns for you."

"Got anybody in mind Doc?"

He said there was a couple of fellers up in the Dakotas that had pretty big spreads and dealt with the Indians on a regular basis, but right now he couldn't recall their names. He suggested they ask around once they got to Deadwood or thereabouts.

Wyatt said to take the stage road north out of town and just keep on it through Nebraska and into the Dakotas. He said it was roughly a little over six hundred miles. Should take them about two or three weeks of wearing their butts out in the saddles on the backs of their horses. He also suggests Wells Fargo has a stage line going that way, but if they decide to take it, the stagecoach stops every twenty or so miles and changes teams of horses the Texas ponies could not keep up, so they'd have to sell them here in Dodge before leaving.

Hank loves Black Magic, had him since he was a colt, and is not about to part with him now. Long a journey as it is, they would just ride their horses and keep liniment on their back sides.

The next morning they saddle up, bid Henry goodbye and ride out onto Broad Street heading for the road north. Sitting in front of the jail is Marshal Earp with his boots and spurs propped on the porch railing, sipping on a steaming cup of black coffee and Doc Holliday leaning against a porch post, smoking his usual cigar. "Have a good trip," yells Wyatt.

"And good luck," said Doc Holliday tipping his hat with the end of his silver-studded walking cane.

Hank touches the brim of his Stetson and nods, "Wyatt," then looks at Doc Holliday without moving his hand, "Doc," and the four continue out of town.

Chapter Eleven

NEBRASKA

After leaving Dodge City the rest of the journey through Kansas into Nebraska is uneventful. Once they are deep into Nebraska, they arrive at the North Platte River. Fortunately, there is a working ferry; however, it's on the far side. A couple of hours later it makes its way across to pick them up. A man runs it by the name of Carl Belue. Carl is a friendly, outspoken man who seems to be a friend to everyone using his services.

Once all the boys have their horses, the mule and Trump aboard Carl pushes off inquiring about where they are from and where they are headed. Hank answers. During the trip across the river, friendly conversation and chatter ensue. As the ferry docks on the far side, it is getting close to nightfall, "Where you fellers gonna settle down for the night?" Carl asks.

Hank replies telling the ferryman they would find a spot to camp as they had been doing for weeks - build them a campfire and eat and sleep under the stars.

Carl would have none of it. "No! You fellers come on home with me, and my wife will fix y'all a proper supper, then you can bed down in my hay barn. It's clean and y'all will be safe and warm."

To the boys, a 'proper' supper sounded much better than their usual fare of beans and hardtack. No matter what Mrs. Belue fixed up would be better than that. Eagerly they accept the ferryman's offer.

The ride to Carl's farm is only a couple of miles. They stable the horses in the barn and go into the house to meet Carl's wife. Ophelia Belue is as friendly and welcoming as Carl. Carl explains he has gotten to know the Texas boys on the ferry and offered them a hot meal and the barn for them to sleep in for the night. Mrs. Belue is entirely in agreement and pouring large cups of coffee to each, said to find places to sit around the big, spacious fireplace, and she will finish up supper.

It isn't long until she announces, "Come and git it." The invitation isn't given twice - they scurry from the fireplace to seats around the large, kitchen table.

"Sorry to be such a bother," said Hank, "but a home cooked meal is gonna be really special to us...thanks."

"Ma used to say," adds Mrs. Belue laughing, "when company comes just put more water in the soup."

But it isn't soup that is on the table. Carl's wife has an assortment of vegetables, ham, white gravy and enough homemade biscuits to choke a hog. This food isn't beans and hardtack. The boys eat until they think they can eat no more, but unexpectedly Mrs. Belue returns from the kitchen with the most scrumptious looking four-layer chocolate cake they have ever seen. Although they believe they cannot swallow another bite, who can pass up this inviting chocolate cake? The cake and more of Mrs. Belue's coffee is the perfect ending to one of the most satisfying meals they have enjoyed in a long time.

Back in the parlor around the fire Mr. Belue fires up his pipe and asks questions about their trip up from Texas. He tells them about how his family came west to settle on this homestead, and the Indian attacks, and the loss of his father and mother. The stories are beginning to take on a somber state, so he decides to change the mood. "Say, did I tell you boys Ophelia is a fortune teller?"

Hank and the others look surprised. "A fortune teller, yes siree, you don't say, a real live fortune teller huh?" He adds, "Carl, what exactly is a fortune teller?"

"Nothing much," said Carl, "she can just read your future by looking at the palm of your hand."

"Ah, go on now," said Charlie.

"Someone want to give 'er a try?" Carl asks.

Hank answers, "I might. How does it work?"

"She'll take you back into the kitchen where the others can't hear, take your hand, look at the lines on them, and using them will read your future."

Hank said that sounds strange to him, but he'll try anything once, and he will do it; although, he did not have any faith that she could see into his future.

As the two of them sit at the kitchen table, Ophelia takes Hank's hand and gazes intently at the lines. She rubs his hand, shuts her eyes and said, "I see you have come a great distance."

'Shoot, thought Hank, 'she could have heard that from us talking in the parlor.'

"And," she continues, "you still have a long way to go."

'Nothing here,' thinks Hank.

"Beware! I see a man in your future. A powerful man, a man who will satisfy your desire to find horses, but do not leave this man. He will be hurt, but he is the answer to your search. I cannot see his entire name, but his initials are T.R., and he hails from New York."

"T.R?" Asks Hank. "Do you see more?"

"Sorry, the mist has faded. There is nothing more."

Back in the parlor, they are all questioning Hank regarding his 'fortune.' Hank thinking Ophelia's "gift" was only a superstition tells the others she said they had come a long way from Texas and had a long way to go before they found the horses they seek. He did tell them she mentioned they would find an injured man with the initials T. R. from New York and he would help them find the horses.

They all laughed and found "fortune playing' a good past-time game.

Morning comes early in this western part of Nebraska. The boys are up, saddled and after opening the corral gate are getting ready to mount up to begin their trek north again. From the house, Ophelia yells, "Where y'all goin'? Breakfast is on the table."

They had not anticipated another good meal after the grand supper the night before, but sure enough, Mrs. Belue has another spread for them to enjoy. Fresh fried chicken, bacon, eggs, white gravy, biscuits, butter, honey, and homemade peach jam, topped off with plenty of hot coffee.

After finishing, Hank thanks, Mrs. Belue, adding in jest, "I'm sorry we just ate your fine breakfast, Mrs. Belue."

"Sorry?" she said confused.

"Yeah, now I trust we're so full I don't suppose we'll be able to sit our horses without falling off."

"Shucks," said Ophelia grinning, "go on now. You Texas boys know how to appreciate a woman's cooking. It were a pleasure to feed you boys."

Chapter Twelve

DEADWOOD

They cross the border between Nebraska into the state of South Dakota. The past week or so has passed slowly, and also uneventful. They are now at the southern end of the Black Hill's range of mountains, still heading north. The landscape has changed from the hot, flat prairie of waist-high, buffalo grass to the cool, tree-shaded forest of the mountains of the western Dakotas.

All along, since entering the Dakotas, buffalo seem to have gotten scarcer and scarcer. Now and then they see rotting carcasses or skeletons of killed buffalo, the reminders of the white men known as buffalo hunters. These disgusting people only kill the magnificent beasts for their hide, tongue, and humps. The rest of the meat is left to rot on the prairie. When the boys cross over a railroad line, they see the buffalo lying dead along the tracks for miles. Railroads would advertise hunting excursions in which paying customers would get up on the top of special prepared train cars and open fire on the buffalo running alongside the tracks. The men on the train will wound, maim and kill the animals just for sport, shooting down hundreds at a time. Hundreds of thousands of bison corpses were left to rot where they fell. Just as bad, the U.S. military encouraged the killing of the buffalo, thinking it would deprive the Indian tribes of their food supply. No wonder, think the Texas boys, why the Indians hate the white man.

One fair morning as they travel north along the eastern edge of the Black Hills Hank looks at the mountains to his left and remarks, "Look at that extraordinary range of granite rock, wouldn't that make a beautiful place for a monument to the Sioux, as you said Ringo, they believe this is their sacred land?"

"Yeah," added Ringo, "those are the 'Six Grandfathers' according to the Lakota Sioux. Yes, the Black Hills", he said, "the Sioux believe we're walking on hallowed ground." Not many white men have traveled these trails and lived to tell about it."

Hank suggests it might be better for them to move a little more east and skirt the Sioux's consecrated Black Hills territory. They could get on the Wells Fargo stagecoach road and avert any Indian confrontations.

The morning could not be more perfect. The gentle breeze coming from the mountains has a slight smell of pine, and the trail ahead is smooth and firm. They have not encountered any Sioux and have seen no signs that there are any Indians in the close vicinity.

"Hank, how far you reckon it is to Deadwood?"

"I don't know, Charlie," replies Hank, "you've been up here before Ringo, what do you think?"

"I'm not sure, but I'll guess probably twenty or thirty more miles. We'll get in there late this afternoon."

Ringo was partially correct, they were within thirty miles of Deadwood, but did not get into town until midnight. Deadwood is a rowdy little town nestled quietly in a narrow valley. Bounded on the east and west sides by the tall Black Hill's mountains. Riding down Main Street, they can see, here and there, coal oil lamps burning on the front porches of the closed bars and saloons, and hear nothing but the clomping of their horse's metal shoes against the cobblestones set tightly in the street. "Man," said Charlie, "I sure wish one of these saloons was still open, I am hungry." The others readily agree.

SALOON # 10

Turning a corner, a crescendo of laughter, hollering and screaming female voices greet them. What's going on, they think looking at each other? As they approach closer to the source of the merriment, they realized it is a saloon. Over the porch in big, broad letters is a swinging sign proclaiming - 'SALOON # 10' and it is indeed open.

Hitching their mounts to the crowded rail, they cross the wooden walkway, push open the two swinging doors and enter. The big room is full of drunken cowboys, dance hall girls, and tables of men playing poker. The air is so thick with tobacco smoke it is hard to see from one side of the room to the other. Pushing their way through the crowd, they reach the bar along the left wall. "Say, barkeep," said Hank to a man with a towel draped over one shoulder rubbing a shot glass, "what time do y'all close this fine establishment?"

The bartender stops wiping the glass, and without looking up said, "We don't, we don't never close, open from can-to-can't - twenty-four hours a day."

"Why? It seems like everyone else in town is closed at this hour."

"Yep, but you see son, this here is Saloon # 10! We don't never close," he said still not raising his head.

"Yeah, I see the sign outside said its Saloon # 10, but what makes it so special y'all can stay up all night, and the others can't?"

"Where you been boy?" He said finally looking up at them. "This here saloon," pointing with his finger to a far poker table a step or two up from the main saloon area, "right up there is where that sniveling coward Jack McCall snuck up and shot Wild Bill Hickok in the back of the head."

Of course, the name Wild Bill Hickok did not mean anything to Hank, Charlie or Indian Joe, but it did to Ringo. Ringo had been to Deadwood years earlier and knew all about the great Hickok. Wild Bill had a reputation for slick card playing and fast gunplay, and he had one demand: he always sat with his back to the wall. This fateful night, for some unknown reason, he pulled up a chair on the outer side of the table. McCall saw his opportunity, pulled his pistol from its holster, crept quietly up to Hickok's poker table and shot him in the back of his head killing him stone cold dead.

"Hey barkeep," asks Ringo, "is it an open game? Might it be possible for a gentleman to set in for a few hands?"

"Shore son, if you can find a gentleman in these parts," he said laughing.

"What about some grub?" Ringo asks. The bartender nods. "Give us four of the biggest steaks you got and let'um still be mooing when they hit the plate. I'm gonna git into that game over at the Hickok table."

The others get their steaks and find a place to sit while Ringo carries his plate over to the poker table. There are five players around the green, felt-covered table, and one chair leans forward against the edge. Ringo grabs this chair places the four legs on the floor and sits down with his steak. "Hope you fellers don't mind me eating while we play, I ain't had a decent meal in days."

One of the cowboys at the table answers, "Nah, don't care for you eatin', but yer can't use that chair!"

"How come?"

"Yer sittin' in Wild Bill's chair."

Ringo set his fork down, leans back and rubs the handles of the chair, "Wild Bills huh? It sure is a fine chair," being perfectly agreeable he adds, "whose deal is it anyway?" He said moving to another chair.

After a few hands, it became apparent that Ringo and one more cowboy are the two best poker players at the table. Ringo has amassed a pile of greenbacks, and his fellow gambler has an equal if not a more significant stack. All the others have lost their money, and have relegated themselves to be spectators. The money is now going to belong to Ringo or the other cowboy. They play back and forth, neither getting the best of the other. Finally, Ringo drew two pair and only asks for one card on the draw. The cowboy stands pat and doesn't take a card.

The betting goes back and forth, Ringo will see the cowboys bet and then raise. The cowboy will return the favor to Ringo. Eventually, when most of their two stacks of money are in the middle of the table, Ringo calls. The man across from Ringo lays his five cards down and announces, "Full house, aces full of sevens."

Ringo sits for a moment staring at the cards in the middle of the table, "Three aces and two sevens, good hand, but something seems wrong."

"Wrong?" said the gambler. "What could be wrong? You see them cards right in front of you, don't you? Give me my money!"

"Yeah, I see 'em alright, and that's the problem." Ringo answers, "the funny thing is," he said putting his cards on the table, "I've got two aces and two eights." Throughout the crowd can be heard the murmur, 'Dead Man's Hand.' "I've never seen a deck with five aces, you're a cheating, card thief!"

The gambler pushes the table, jumps to his feet and attempts to draw his six-shooter, but Ringo already has his .44 in his hand, and before the man can pull the trigger Ringo puts two slugs squarely in the center of his chest. Blood flies everywhere. The cheater tumbles backward, falling over his chair, stone cold dead as Wild Bill was. Ringo turns to the crowd as he pulls the money from the table into his hat, "Y'all seen it, didn't you? Fair fight, he was cheating and pulled his gun first." The crowd of on-lookers mumbles in agreement.

The doors of the saloon swing open and standing there, outlined in the doorway is a brute of a man, Seth Bullock, the sheriff of Deadwood with a six-shooter in each hand, "Let me have your gun young man, you're under arrest."

"But Sheriff, but..."

"Save it feller, reach for the sky. Place yer hands over yer head we're goin' down to the jailhouse."

Ringo slaps his Stetson full of money on his head, hands his .44 to the sheriff and reaces for the sky with both hands.

As the Sheriff locks the cell door behind Ringo, Ringo is still arguing that the fight was in self-defense with a man that was a cheat. Ringo cussing and swearing demands the Sheriff interview the witnesses to the shooting.

Taking about as much abuse as he can stand the Sheriff looks at Ringo, "Young feller that's enough. I know you killed Sam Tiller in self-defense, and I know he is a habitual cheat and needed killing. Someone should have done it years ago."

"Okay, then why am I the one being tossed in jail?"

"Tiller's two brothers! They won't care that Sam drew first, and they know he cheats, but they will clearly be out for blood. I brought you down here to let the crowd think you have been arrested for Sam's murder - you're not. At first light in the morning, I'll have your friends meet you at the back of the jail with your horse, and I strongly suggest y'all mount up and skedaddle out of Deadwood before the Tiller brothers arrive. And take your damn dog too."

Chapter Thirteen

THE STAGECOACH

Riding out of Deadwood, Ringo is mumbling and grumbling. "What's wrong?" Hank asks.

"Darn, after all that, I still didn't get to eat my steak!"

Laughing, they rein their horses east and in a few miles find the stagecoach road and turn once again north. They have gone only a few miles when they hear gunfire up ahead. Spurring their horses into a gallop, they top a rise and see bandits chasing the Wells Fargo stage in the valley below. The coachman riding shotgun has already been shot and slumps over the front dashboard. Hank pulls his Sharps rifle from his saddle scabbard, takes careful aim pulls the trigger and knocks one of the Banditos from his saddle. The others intensify the chase to stop the passenger coach, but while trying to rein in the horses from a dead run and applying the brake the stage overturns violently. The bandits see the Texas boys are almost upon them and flee.

The team of six horses pulling the stage break free and run off. The boys approach the overturned stage to find the driver dead from an apparent broken neck, and the shotgun guard dead from a rifle bullet. There are only two passengers in the coach, a man, and a woman. The man seems to be severely injured. Hank yells to Charlie, "You and Ringo try to roundup the stage's team of horses. Joe get the mule and let's see if we can pull this stage back upon its wheels. It doesn't seem to be damaged too much." By the time Charlie and Ringo return with the six stagecoach horses, Hank and Indian Joe have the stage back ready to roll. Inside is a sizeable man, fancy dressed, but unconscious and bleeding from a nasty cut on his head. The other is a lovely, older woman about the age of the injured gentleman, but she doesn't appear to be hurt.

"Madam," looking at the woman, "do you have luggage that might contain a petticoat?"

"What? A petticoat, who do you think you are? You need to be helping my husband, not looking for some personal undergarments of mine."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Hank responds, "I need the cloth from the petticoat for bandages for your husband's head."

"Oh! I see, I'm sorry. It's the brown leather bag," she said pointing out the window, "lying over there on the ground."

Hank opens the bag and rips the petticoat into lengths of bandages. He then wraps the gentleman's head tightly to stop the bleeding and uses another strip wet with canteen water to place on the wounded man's forehead.

Ringo takes the driver's seat and slaps the horse's flanks with the leather reins, hollering, "Giddy up there horses!" The stagecoach is again on its way heading north.

Riding in the coach Hank introduces himself, the woman thanks him profusely for the assistance and the help he is giving her husband. She introduces herself as Edith Roosevelt and explains the injured man is her husband, Theodore Roosevelt. She is expecting the mention of the Roosevelt name to cause excitement in the young cowboy's face, but not as excited as Hank becomes. "Theodore Roosevelt," Hank said, "T.R.," he asks Mrs. Roosevelt. "Are y'all from New York?" Hank questions. "Please, tell me you are not."

"Yes, of course, so you have heard of my husband. He is a national political figure back east, especially in New York state."

"No ma'am, I'm afraid I've never heard of him."

"Never heard of him! Then how did you...", puzzled she replies. Little did Mrs. Roosevelt realize Hank nor none of his friends have seen a recent newspaper and know nothing of national politics. If you couldn't ride it, rope it or eat it; it was of no concern to the Jericho men.

"I could explain Mrs. Roosevelt, but you wouldn't believe me if I tried. Take my word for it."

Riding along in the stagecoach Hank and Mrs. Roosevelt become more acquainted. "I never did ask you, Mrs. Roosevelt, where are you and your husband headed?"

"Home," she replies, "we have been back east and are returning to our ranch 'Chimney Butte' on the Little Missouri. It's about thirty-five miles north of the town of Medora, North Dakota. How do you think Teddy is going to be?"

Hank said it all depends on how long he stays unconscious. If he awakens shortly, he will probably be fine, but he could remain in a coma for a long time.

Mrs. Roosevelt is worried, she tells Hank. She said her husband has a team and buckboard stabled in Medora for use on their way back to their ranch, but with him injured she did not know what she will do.

CHIMNEY BUTTE

Hank sticks his head out the window and yells for Ringo to stop the coach. Hank, Charlie, Ringo, and Indian Joe stand in a circle talking. They all reluctantly agree this Theodore Roosevelt must be the T.R. of which the fortune teller spoke. Ringo returns to the driver's seat. Hank gets back into the coach with Mrs. Roosevelt.

Hank informs her that he and his brothers are in the Dakotas to buy Indian ponies, so looking in the vicinity of Chimney Butte on the Little Missouri is as good a place to start looking as any. They have agreed to get Mr. Roosevelt's buckboard, fix him a place to lie in the back and they will drive them both back to their ranch. Hank tells her he is hopeful during the trip home Mr. Roosevelt might regain consciousness.

Ringo pulls the stage into Medora a couple of days later. A local doctor arrives and gives Mr. Roosevelt a thorough exam. He concludes Hank has done as much as humanly possible. There is nothing more he can do, with rest, and if he regains consciousness, Mr. Roosevelt should recover fully.

They go to the livery stable and hitch up Mr. Roosevelt's team and wagon and load up and start out in a northwest direction toward Chimney Butte, some thirty-five miles distance. With the injured Mr. Roosevelt they must not push the horses too fast, he needs a smooth, gentle ride, so it is four days before they reach the ranch house on the banks of the Little Missouri.

What a magnificent place they see. Tall, waist-high, green grass as far as the eye can see, pure running waters of the Little Missouri, cattle, and horses grazing on the distant hills. Intermingled with the heifers and bulls is a large herd of buffalo. The sky is so blue; one senses they can almost touch it, and the scent, the magnificent scent of the prairie. Smells mixed together to make the Texas boys homesick for their own broad expanse of grass in the Lone Star State.

Mrs. Roosevelt makes sure the boys get settled in the bunkhouse and tells them they are to eat each meal in the big house. 'It is splendid,' think the boys. They constantly have a good breakfast, an excellent lunch and always a fabulous supper. On the morning of the fourth day during breakfast, Margarita, Roosevelt's Mexican domestic, comes hurrying down the stairs and announces, in a heavy Mexican accent, "Mr. Roosevelt he be awake and he wants something to eat!" Margarita reports he is famished.

They all jump from the table and rush upstairs. The boys open the door to the bedroom, and are greeted by Mr. Roosevelt sitting upright trying to find his spectacles on the nightstand next to his bed.

Everyone is introduced, and the boys go back downstairs to finish breakfast. Edith stays with Theodore and brings him up to date on the happening of the past week. She explains in detail how the boys saved their lives, how Hank and the boys had scared off the robbers and describes Hank bandaging up Teddy's head, and going out of their way to get him home. She tells him also that the boys are from Texas and have come into the Dakotas seeking Indian ponies to carry back to their ranch to start a new breed of horses using their Texas Quarter horses.

After supper, they all sit in the great room around a huge, roaring fireplace talking, laughing and tasting scotch that Mrs. Roosevelt has provided from her husband's private stock. Rotgut, Red Eye or White lightening are the only whiskeys the boys have ever tasted, but Scotch whiskey, wow, now this is fine sipping whiskey they think.

They hear a 'Thud,' 'Thud,' 'Thud' coming down the massive staircase, turning to the sound they see Mr. Roosevelt dressed in pajamas and a robe using a cane coming toward them. Hank jumps up and runs toward him shouting, "Mr. Roosevelt, Sir you should not be out of bed!"

"Nonsense, nonsense, you can't keep a good man down. It is just a slight bump on the head." Grabbing Hank by the hand, "You must be, Hank, young man?"

"Yes, Sir, I am."

"I want to especially thank you," glancing around the room, "I am dee-lighted for your assistance to my wife and me in our time of need. I will forever be in your debt, if there is ever anything you need, all you have to do is ask. You all saved our bloody lives, and we are eternally grateful." Mr. Roosevelt was born and raised in the high society of eastern Long Island, New York. His mannerisms and speech is a carryover of the so-called 'high breeding' associated with the aristocrats of the old country - England

Mr. Roosevelt takes a chair close to the fire, offers the boys a cigar and lights one for himself. Between puffs, Hank pours Mr. Roosevelt two fingers of Scotch whiskey. Toasting the glass to the Texans, he takes a couple of big swigs, and blowing a ring of smoke into the air, speaks to the boys. "Edith tells me you are looking for Indian breeding stock to take back to Texas. Mighty ambitious plan, but a good one. I can help you here, the Sioux will not trade or negotiate with you, but I am friendly with some of the bands and will intervene for you once I am up and on my feet."

For two hours the group sits around the crackling fire and engage in spirited talk. Of course, they enjoy a considerable quantity of Mr. Roosevelt's Scotch whiskey. It is getting late, Hank stands, checks his pocket watch, stretches and announces it is nine o'clock, time for bed. The others readily agree and begin to excuse themselves and stagger out.

"Oh, Hank might I have another word or two before leaving, old boy?" Mr. Roosevelt said before Hank is out of the room.

The large grandfather clock in the hallway chimes one o'clock. Mr. Roosevelt and Hank have been conversing with each other for the better part of four hours. Hank has told of his life on Jericho and their decision to come north to find Indian ponies. He even tells card by card how they won Joshua in the poker game. Mr. Roosevelt describes his own life in politics back in New York. He explains that he has already seen reserve military service with the New York National Guard. Commissioned on 1 August 1882, as a 2nd Lieutenant with B Company, 8th Regiment, he was promoted to Captain and Company Commander a year later.

All this talk of politics and military life fascinates Hank, he has never been exposed to the kind of lifestyle Mr. Roosevelt enjoys, he never knew of such a way other people lived, but he thought it must be exciting to live such an existence. By the time the clock strikes two-thirty, Hank and Mr. Roosevelt have become friends. Hank thinks it prudent not to mention Mrs. Belue, the fortune teller. T. R. assures Hank he will help the Texas boys acquire Indian ponies from the Tribes.

For the next couple of weeks, Mr. Roosevelt keeps recuperating, getting better and better. In fact, he has never been a good horseman, and as he regains his health, Charlie begins teaching him to ride proper cowboy style. Ringo gives him lessons on the handling of the six-shooter and the correct use and firing of the rifle. Once he has mastered the equestrian art of the cowboy, Hank teaches him how to handle a lariat to rope a calf. In a matter of weeks, they have turned a city tenderfoot into a reasonably accomplished cowboy. The boys from Texas have become Theodore's friends, and he greatly admires them and their western skills.

He has a couple of wild, bucking broncs and tries to persuade the boys to show him how to break these mean brutes into peaceful saddle horses. However, the boys try to convince Mr. Roosevelt, bronc busting isn't a skill learned overnight, but he wouldn't have none of it. After a couple of lessons in the corral, with Theodore landing hard on his hind side, he relents and gives up pursuing a career as a cowboy adept at breaking broncos. He discovered the only thing he was adept at was bruising his rear end.

THE SIOUX VILLAGE

One morning during breakfast Mr. Roosevelt announces, "So it's Indian ponies you're after, huh? Fine, then today's the day, we'll go out to the Cheyenne River Reservation and speak to Chief Oh-yo-kee'-pah-zoh Mah-'hoh'-pee-yah or Dark Cloud. Dark Cloud is chief of the Lakota band of Sioux. He and I are good friends, and I believe I might be able to negotiate a deal for you. What do you say?"

"Dark Cloud? Now you're talking," said Hank. "Just as long as I don't have to say his proper Sioux name."

"One more thing. Charlie, you and Indian Joe will need to stay here at the ranch. These Lakota Sioux will not take to a Comanche and an Apache walking boldly into their camp." Staying behind is fine with Indian Joe. Since first laying eyes on Margarita that first night at Chimney Butte the two of them have become friendlier and friendlier. They will sneak off to be alone every chance they get. Indian Joe finds himself in love for the first time in his life.

CHIEF DARK CLOUD

By mid-afternoon they crest a hill and looking into the river valley below the Texas boys see a peaceful, smooth flowing creek meandering beside hundreds of white tepees. Their ridge poles blacken from the hundreds of fires that for years have emitted the smoke through the opening in the top.

The men ride down from the hills and follow the river to the main Sioux camp. They are close to a quarter mile away when the dozens of Indian cur dogs begin raising the alarm. They begin to bark and howl long before the riders can be seen from the Indian camp. The dogs are better than any sentries the Indians could post. On their way into the Indian village, they pass a rope corral with at least two hundred ponies hobbled so they cannot run off. Mr. Roosevelt looks at the horses and glances toward Hank with a knowing look.

Riding into a large Sioux camp, would under normal circumstances, be a death sentence, but the Sioux warriors recognize Mr. Roosevelt and gang around he and the other riders. All the Indians are whooping and hollering; many are waving spears and tomahawks in the air making menacing gestures toward the visitors. There seems to be no intent to harm the white men; the spectacle is merely the antics of the Indian warriors showing off to intimidate the white eyes.

Mr. Roosevelt slips his horse up close to Hank, "See that lodge there in the middle." He said pointing with his finger. "The one with all the buffalo hides and the highly decorated war shield hanging by the entrance flap, that's Chief Dark Cloud's tepee."

Hitching their ponies to a lodgepole, Mr. Roosevelt, Hank, and Ringo wait for the warrior guard to push back the entrance flap and let them enter Chief Dark Cloud's lodge. Hank has never been inside an Indian lodge - he almost gags and vomits. Buffalo skins cover the floor, and the stench is worse than a two week old dead buffalo. The smell is nauseating, 'How can anyone live in this stinking filth?'

Chief Dark Cloud sits cross-legged, across a fire pit, on the far side of his dwelling. He motions his visitors to sit and passes a pipe about two feet long for each to draw smoke. Hank believes it tastes like ground up buffalo dung, no, he reconsiders, buffalo dung would be better. But he smokes it reluctantly. They have to make a deal for the horses.

Passing the pipe to Ringo the Chief said, "Oh-yo-kee'-pah-zoh, hoh-kahn." Before handing the pipe he nods his head and emits a loud, "Humm."

Whispering to Mr. Roosevelt Hank asks what the chief is saying. Roosevelt explains since Ringo is dressed entirely in a black hat, a black shirt, black vest, black pants and black pistol belt and black boots the Chief is calling Ringo, "What is that now...now...the best I can come up with is Black Raven. Ringo, you have been given the name 'Black Raven.'

"Is this good or bad?" asks Ringo.

"I'm going to say good since the Sioux regard the Raven or Black Bird to be magical. The Medicine Man thinks the Raven has wonderful powers and is not to be harmed and certainly not killed. To do so will bring bad luck to the Lakota Sioux nation, and the man or person doing such a bad deed will suffer a terrible fate. The usual punishment is expulsion from the Lakota Sioux nation and sometimes the penalty is even death."

"Think I'm gonna stick close to Ringo during this visit. Anyone who has magical powers is my man." Hank said.

The Chief speaks to Mr. Roosevelt, but their conversation is in the Lakota Sioux language, so Hank and Ringo do not understand a single word. The conversation between Mr. Roosevelt goes back and forth. Finally, Mr. Roosevelt turns to Hank, "the Chief will trade you fifty ponies for your poke of five hundred dollars in gold. However, he throws in a caveat - he must be the one to pick the horses." Hank is dumbfounded; he cannot let the Chief pick the ponies if this is allowed the Chief will pick the worst of the herd. The Chief believes the 'white eyes' know little or nothing of Indian mustangs and will be satisfied with the ponies that are of lesser quality. Hank wants the cream of the Indian crop. He needs the best to be the start of his breeder herd back at Jericho, and the Chief is dealing with a Texan that knows as much, if not more than the Indians on the qualities of fine equine horseflesh.

Hank pulls Mr. Roosevelt aside, "Sir, I know you are doin' your best negotiating, but I need you to put the squeeze on the Chief - I've got to be the one to pick my herd. Without the finest ponies, my cross-bred herd will not be top of the line and the results may even result in failure. I simply cannot go back to Jericho without the best of the Chief's Indian ponies. I do not want to do it, Mr. Roosevelt, but to get the pick of the bunch I would be agreeable to drop the demand for fifty horses to forty horses - but the soundest, first class forty he has, and I pick 'em. That is my final offer."

Sitting next to Chief Dark Cloud is his oldest son E'-\'ay Toir-Wah-pah'-pah or roughly translated 'He who Barks,' or 'Barking Dog.'

Barking Dog is next in line to be chief after Dark Cloud and has a hatred for all white men. During the negotiations, he has constantly been arguing with his father not to trade with the 'white eyes.'

Years earlier while camped on the Snake River the U.S. Calvary attacked their village at the crack of dawn, catching most of the Sioux asleep. Before Barking Dog and his warriors could arm themselves and resist the soldiers his wife and young son had been killed. Now his seething resentment for the whites has turned into pure hatred. He wants to have nothing to do with them, in fact, he said they stink just to be around them.

THE FIGHT

Back and forth Dark Cloud and Mr. Roosevelt barter - fifty horses and the Chief will do the selecting. It is no use. The Chief will not budge. He will not even consider trading for forty horses. Hank, reluctantly agrees, fifty less than great ponies is better than no ponies at all. They rise from the smelly, buffalo robes on the ground and start toward the entrance flap to the tepee. Barking Dog steps in the way and will not let them pass. Although Chief Dark Cloud has agreed on the trade, Barking Dog is not having any of it. He takes his large knife and with forceful arrogance spikes it into the dirt at Hank's feet.

Hank turns to Mr. Roosevelt with an anxious look. Hank knows Barking Dog is challenging him to a contest, an Indian fight of combat to the death. He questions Mr. Roosevelt what is he to do? There is no backing out, to do so would result in both he, Ringo and Mr. Roosevelt being killed immediately. Mr. Roosevelt explains the nature of this combat: they each will be mounted on horseback and positioned fifty yards apart. They can use any weapon they choose, except no firearms. They will charge at each other head on and try to dislodge the opponent from their horse. Once on the ground, the winner will, using his knife or club, quickly kill the fallen opponent on the ground. This contest is going to be a competition to the demise of one or the other.

Outside the two fighters mount their horses. Hank climbs onto Black Magic's saddle, and Barking Dog mounts a beautiful, white Mustang that has black painted moons, black and red hand prints on its body and a black circle around its left eye. The Indian warrior has a war club in one hand, a bone breastplate covers his chest, and in the other hand, a buffalo skin covered shield. From a small bowl held by one of the women he dips his fingers and smears two black lines across his forehead and down both cheeks. With his war paint applied he eyes Hank with a glare that appears to stare completely through him.

Hank pats Black Magic on the neck, "Easy now, you know what to do," he said whispering into the horse's left ear. He too selects a battle ax but he did not want a shield. He discards his pistol; however, he keeps his big Bowie knife strapped to his belt. The Sioux are magnificent horsemen, but Hank is no amateur either, he has been on a horse's back since before he was able to walk. The two fighters position themselves about fifty yards apart. One warrior stands between them holding a Winchester rifle in the air - looking at Barking Dog then Hank, he nods and fires the weapon. Both riders dig their heels into their horse's flanks, and without hesitation, the steeds charge headlong at each other.

Hank has one advantage - Black Magic. Black Magic is one of Texas' finest, if not the Lone Star State's finest Quarter Horse. And as a cattle pony, he has pushed, shoved and driven long-horn cattle places they did not want to go, and even with their long, sharp horns he wasn't afraid to make them do so. Hank wants him to be a Texas Quarter Horse today; Black Magic is to crowd Barking Dog's Mustang so tight that Barking Dog's mount will shy away afraid of getting hit, this will be the slight edge Hank will have in this fight. Barking Dog may have engaged in this type Indian fighting before, but he has never faced a fearless Texas Quarter Horse like Black Magic.

Hank knows Barking Dog will use his shield to deflect his blow with the war club. As they race toward each other, Black Magic does his part, he presses fearlessly headlong straight toward Barking Dog's pony. The Indian's Mustang shies just enough to allow Hank to swing his club a few steps before the Indian is near to him. He aims above the shield at the warriors exposed head. His stone war club smashes into the side of Barking Dog's skull knocking him senselessly from his horse. Blood is gushing from the open wound the blow inflicted. Hank wastes no time, he leaps from his saddle, draws his sharp, Bowie knife, pounces on Barking Dog's chest with the knife at the Indian's throat ready to thrust.

"Toh-koh'-nish! Toh-koh'-nish! No! No!" Yells Chief Dark Cloud, "Fifty ponies, as you want, you pick! Please, not kill my oldest son. I beg for his life."

Hank, sitting astride Barking Dogs chest, thinks for a moment then removes the blade and stands up. Barking Dog continues to lie on the ground, ashamed to move. Hank stands over the young warrior, extends his hand and helps him to his feet. Once upon his feet, Hank returns Barking Dog's dropped war club and battle shield. Returning the club and shield, to the Sioux, is a sign of respect from one warrior to another, the gathered crowd of warriors surrounding the fighting arena nod and mumble their approval.

Chief Dark Cloud and the other Indian braves might approve of the result of the fight, but by the look in his eyes, one could see Barking Dog does not take defeat extremely well. Not only did he not want to trade with the 'white eyes' now his pride is hurt by his trouncing at the hands of this inferior white-eye, one Texas cowboy by the name of - Hank.

Hank and Ringo spend their time. They examine the entire herd of over two hundred horses, and each pony is carefully inspected. They check their hoofs, their teeth, check the soundness of their legs, even a couple they mount and ride for a few seconds. They want the soundest, most spirited Mustangs the Sioux chief has. After methodically appraising every pony they choose the best of the best - fifty Sioux war horses that any Indian on the plains would swap his squaw to be their owner.

Once the prized herd of ponies is chosen Mr. Roosevelt, Hank and Ringo return to the ranch and hire enough wranglers to help in the drive of the herd south to Texas. They plan to leave in a couple of weeks allowing the ponies to rest up and put on a little extra weight grazing on Chimney Butte's thick, bountiful grass before shoving off.

The budding romance that developed while Indian Joe stayed at Mr. Roosevelt's ranch turns into a big wedding before the boys leave for Texas. Indian Joe and Margarita have the start of a beautiful house on their own spread of six-hundred and forty acres Mr. Roosevelt gives them as a wedding present.

At supper Hank speaks to Mr. Roosevelt, "Sir, we wish to thank you for all your kindness. Especially interceding with Dark Cloud for the ponies, we will be forever grateful."

"Definitely get the Cavalry some top mounts that will be able to withstand the tough rigors of frontier life. The horses the Cavalry uses today cannot keep up with the Indian ponies out here on the wide-open prairie."

"That we will do, Sir. With your leave, we will be moving out at sunup tomorrow, heading south back to Jericho. Again, we thank you."

Mr. Roosevelt has left an indelible mark on the three men from Texas, and they will never forget him.

INDIAN ATTACK

They are only a few weeks south out of Chimney Butte ranch. The ponies are easy to drive, and the hired wranglers are doing a good job. It is late in the afternoon as the herd passes a butte to their west. Without warning a war whoop emits from behind a small grove of ponderosa pine trees, and an Indian arrow comes swooping down with a powerful force heading straight towards Hank.

At the last moment Hank unconsciously turns and the arrow barely misses him but strikes Ringo in the right side of his chest. The force of this primitive projectile penetrates his body and the flint arrowhead pierces his heart deep within his chest. He immediately falls from his horse to the ground. Hank, Charlie and a number of the men pull their rifles and begin firing toward the tree line.

Hank leaps from Black Magic and cradles Ringo's head in his lap. He is oblivious to any additional arrows that might be coming from the pine thicket. He can see the arrow is deep-seated within Ringo's chest, too deep to remove. All Hank can say as he looks at his dying friend taking his last breath, "I'm sorry my friend."

Ringo grasps Hank's hand and tries to speak, but no words come from his mouth, only a trickle of blood oozes from the corner. Hank feels Ringo slightly squeezing his hand and then he is gone. The men chase the assailant into the pine grove, but the Indian like smoke in a breeze has vanished.

Later that afternoon they dig a grave on a slight rise immediately east of and within view of the 'Five Grandfathers.' Wrapped in his horse blanket the men bury Ringo. The grave is covered in stones to keep the animals from digging into it, and one of the men carve a proper marker to place at its head. Hank removes his Stetson and looks down, forlornly, trying to think of some appropriate words to say.

A gentle breeze blows from the mountains of the Black Hills and a solitary black raven circles overhead emitting its shrill, mournful, 'caw-caw' cry. It is as though the raven understands the tragedy which has just occurred far below.

The glisten of a wet tear is seen forming in the corner of Hank's eye as he softly speaks, "Ringo, you have been a good friend now may you find peace and happiness in the next life. Lord knows you had a hard time doing it here in this one. Fellers," he said looking at Ringo's grave, "I only know one Bible verse for a time like this, and it goes something like this, 'Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it.' (Eccles. 12:7)

Picking up a handful of dirt, Hank scatters it over the stones of Hank's resting place. "Farewell, my faithful companion, we're only being separated by a few earthly days, it will not be long before we meet again someday in that eternal place of happiness, where we shall never say goodbye again. Rest in peace until then."

Replacing his worn Stetson Hank turns to his men, "Time to go men, nothing more we can do here. We need to continue herding the ponies south."

INDIANS

Three days pass since the killing of Ringo when one of the drag men rides up to Hank, "Boss, there's dust to our rear - looks like a large bunch of Indians are ridin' our way."

Hank reins his horse around and rides far enough away to escape the herd's dust so he can see clearly. The wrangler is right, it is Indians, and they are coming on fast. Studying the situation, Hank knows it is useless to fight - it is only himself, Charlie and a few wranglers. The Indians number in the dozens. He decides the only chance is to abandon the herd and let the men scatter and run for their lives as the Indians will stop to gather up the ponies and abandon their chase.

Just before he yells out the instructions to run, he recognizes the band of Sioux Indians. It is the Lakota Band with Chief Dark Cloud at their lead. Hank decides to wait and see what the Chief wants from him.

Dark Cloud and at least two dozen warriors ride up to Hank and his men at a dead gallop. Reigning in his pony just a few feet from Hank the dust envelopes them all. When the dust settles, Dark Cloud, dressed in his full-length, eagle-feathered, war bonnet, looks at Hank with an intimidating glare, and in one hand he grips a menacing, sharp-tipped lance, and in his other, he brandishes a rawhide, war shield. Indian chiefs only wear their war bonnets when they are on the warpath with the white men, or something important is going to occur.

'These Indians mean business,' thinks Hank. Before Hank can react, Chief Dark Cloud throws the war shield to the ground at Hank's feet and speaks, "Shield belong to Barking Dog my son. He no longer my son, he coward to attack white eyes. He be banished from Lakota Sioux never to return. He disgrace Dark Cloud by kill your friend Oh-yo-kee'-pah-zoh, hoh-kahn. Your friend's place of rest will forever be known as Black Raven Butte, watched over forever by our 'Six Grandfathers', and will always be a sacred place for the Lakota Sioux. Travel in peace, my friend." With these words, Chief Dark Cloud hands a single eagle feather to Hank. In the tradition of the Sioux, the presentation of an eagle feather by the Sioux Chief represents the highest of respect earned through selfless acts of courage and honor. Traditional deeds that brought distinction would include acts of valor in battle or acts that helped their tribe endure and thrive. The esteem attached to eagle feathers was so high that in many cases only one or two honor feathers might be awarded to a warrior in his whole lifetime. In some cases a warrior of little distinction might never be awarded this high honor. This reverence to Ringo was the Sioux paying their highest respect.

Hank picks up the chief's war shield, wipes off the dust, and hands it back. Returning a warrior's war shield is regarded as a sign of respect also.

After the award of the eagle feather and the return of the shield, Chief Dark Cloud raises his spear into the air and he, along with his warriors, turn and gallop back toward the north, back to the land of the Sioux nation.

CRUSH CITY

Late one evening, weeks out of the Dakotas, Hank stokes up the campfire getting ready for bed. The horses have been corralled up on a decent spot of green grass, and a small stream ripples nearby. Off in the distance a lonely coyote howls his desolate cry, but he gives them no worry. Otherwise, all seems quiet and peaceful.

"Hank," asks Charlie. "You reckon that might be a prairie fire down towards the south?" He said pointing with his finger.

Hank has already gotten under his blanket on the ground, but sits up and looks in the southerly direction that Charlie indicates. "The sky sure is afire, Charlie," said Hank, "but I don't believe that is a widespread fire. Prairie fires seem to be redder, that's more yellow against the sky. That looks more like campfires than anything."

"Is it a town, Hank? Or Indians?"

"Nah, the nearest town is more'n fifty miles or more away, and Indians wouldn't have such a fire. Anyhow, we're goin' that way, we'll find out what it is tomorrow."

The next morning Charlie is up before the sun shows its fiery head and has breakfast and a big pot of coffee brewing. Hank is also up checking on the herd and has them ready to get on the trail. "Charlie, did you get any whiff of smoke in the air?"

"Hank, when I first got up, I smelt all around, and I did not smell anything unusual. Funny, if that was a prairie fire seems like we should have gotten a smoky scent of it, what do you think?"

"We can see about fifteen miles to the horizon, but whatever it was is further than that, we'll know in a few hours, or no later than tomorrow for sure."

By sunset, the herd rounds a small hill. Spread out in the valley as far as the eye can see are tents, not Indian tents, but white, settler's tents. The kind the Army uses, but this is not the Army. Hank and Charlie along with the Wranglers round up the horses, and leave two men to keep watch over them; the rest set out to find out what the whole commotion is all about down in this valley.

The first person they meet they question, "What's goin' on?"

He answers, "Why, folks this here is now the town of Crush."

"Crush?" Hank replies. "Never heard of such a place."

"Neither had any of these folks until about a week ago. You see, a man by the name of William Crush of the Missouri-Kansas-Texas railroad came up with an idea to run two train locomotives head-on as a spectacle for railroad publicity."

Hank speaks to the stranger, "You say all these people have come here to see a train wreck? How much is he going to charge to see this grand event?"

"Nothing," said the gent, "It's free. If you needed a ride, he just charged two dollars for a train ticket from anywhere in Texas to this spot of nowhere."

"How many people you reckon is here?"

"Some say at least forty-thousand."

"Did you say forty-thousand? Why that makes this tent city one of the biggest towns in Texas. Charlie lets walk around this place; this is bigger than the state fair."

Hank and Charlie cannot believe the carnival atmosphere the town of Crush City exhibits.

Circus tents from Ringling Brothers and events from the Midway of The World's Columbian Exposition of 1893 in Chicago are present. There are lemonade stands, all kinds of carnival games, medicine shows galore, cigar stands, game booths and sideshows and even a grandstand for the spectators of tomorrows spectacular train crash event. The marvel of all wonders the Ferris Wheel at the 1893 Exposition has been dismantled and moved to 'Crush.' To a couple of old Texas cowboys, this is a sight to see. Hank wants to take a ride on it, but Charlie cannot, under any amount of persuasion, be coaxed to set foot on it. "Hank, did you notice that lemon stall up the way a piece?"

"Yeah, Charlie, it is a lemonade stand. They sell it. They squeeze out the juice, add a little sugar and water and make a fairly good drink. I tried one in Austin one time at the Texas state fair. Why Charlie?"

"Hank, how much does one of them lemon things cost?"

"Oh, I reckon a nickel or maybe a dime, why?"

"Hank, you know I have never tasted me one of them lemons, but I sure would like too. Fact is, I have never even seen one of them yellow things. But you know I do not have any money."

"Come on Charlie. I've got at least a dime; we're gonna go get you one of those lemonade drinks."

As Hank and Charlie walk around the carnival, Charlie is sipping on his lemonade; they notice a large crowd gathering on the outskirts of the central spectator area. They decide to stroll over and see for themselves what is going on. They find a splendid mix of fakes, hokum, and the "hootchy-cootchy" version of the belly dance; it is the most popular, with a charge of ten cents to see the girls 'dance'. Standing on a platform out front of the tent are two scantily clad 'ladies' exhibiting a small portion of the dance that the paying customers can witness for themselves inside. Now, this Charlie wants to see!

"Wow, Hank that was something," Charlie said as they leave the tent. "Hank, you ever saw a girls leg before? And did you notice that you could even see them ladies stomachs too? Have you ever seen such a sight?" Charlie is so excited from seeing the half-naked women; he could not stop talking.

Hank thought for a minute, "Yeah, I did once."

"You did Hank? When? You never told me that."

"You remember that birthday party that Lilly Long threw for her sixteenth birthday over at her place?" Whispering Hank added, "me and her ended up, so to speak, down in her barn loft in the hay. Yeah, she was more'n eager to show me her bare legs and a lot more too, if you get my drift."

"Why Hank, I never..."

"No, me and her never did again either Charlie." Changing the subject, "Let's go see them two trains."

Hank and Charlie tour the two locomotives that tomorrow will be the center of attention in the crash. One is painted bright green and the other bright red. They see that a special track has been built alongside the regular train track so there is no chance that a regular train could get on the train track the two locomotives will use.

"Say, Hank," Charlie said looking determined, "what do you say we stay here an extra day and watch this train wreck. We will never get another opportunity to see such an event, what do you think?"

"You know, Charlie; you took the words right out of my mouth. I would sure like to see such a spectacular wreck that these two trains will make. Yep, we're gonna stay and see this thing happen."

THE CRASH

The next afternoon around one o'clock the two locomotives were stationed at opposite ends of the track about four miles apart. Hank and Charlie have found them a good viewing spot on one of the nearby hills to await the spectacular event.

The engineers open the throttles, pull the ropes to the steam whistles, and after four turns of the drive wheels jump from the moving trains. By the time the two trains meet head-on, they are each doing approximately sixty miles per hour.

One old, white-bearded, man, has for days, been walking through the crowd of people preaching and carrying a large sign saying: 'REPENT THE END IS AT HAND,' but no one pays him any attention. He tries to tell the people that the collision is going to create an enormous explosion when the boilers rupture. He said that the blast will kill many people and signal the beginning of the end of time on Earth.

No one believes the crazy old man, and the sponsors of the event say there is nothing to worry about there will be no explosion.

As the two locomotives speed faster and faster toward each other, anticipation in the crowd grows stronger and stronger. Everyone is sitting on pins and needles waiting for the fateful moment when the two trains meet head-on. The pressure in the steam boilers must have been tremendous, as they huff and puff down the track to inevitably smash into each other. A few daring young men had foolishly said they would ride the fateful train to its demise. But fortunately at the last moment, good sense prevailed, and the boys decide to watch on the side lines along with the other spectators. One of them boasts, trying to show his bravery, he didn't think there would be a blast; however, he wasn't convinced enough to ride on the train.

The old preacher was correct on one point - there is a tremendous explosion. As the two locomotives meet, those that related the events later said, it appeared as though the two engines rose dozens of feet straight up into the air. It was as if the locomotives were climbing a track toward the sky, then suddenly the mass of steel, metal, and wood let loose with the noise of a thousand cannons. The sound was horrendous.

Some massive pieces of the two trains are blown hundreds of feet into the air, falling among the spectators. It was said that three spectators had been killed and one photographer lost an eye to a piece of metal, but the old preacher was wrong on the other point - the world did not come to an end.

The next morning Hank, Charlie, the wranglers and the herd are once again on the road to Jericho. Riding next to Charlie, Hank said, "You know, Charlie, I've been to a rodeo, a hanging, and a state fair, and now I think I have seen it all - Crush City, didn't it beat all?"

"Amen to that, Hank."

Chapter Fourteen

THE STORM

"Hank," asks Charlie, "have we come over into Kansas yet?"

"Pretty sure we're out of Nebraska, so yeah we must be in Kansas, Charlie. Why?"

"I was just wondering if it gets dark in Kansas faster than in Nebraska?"

"Why, Charlie, what a foolish thing to say. Being in one state than another ain't gonna have much difference when the sun goes down. What you gettin' at?"

"What time does your pocket watch say, Hank? I am guessing it is about four o'clock or thereabouts."

Hank pulls Poppa Scarburg gold pocket watch from his shirt pocket, flips open the cover and checks the time. Yep, Charlie is pretty close - it is a quarter to four. "Quarter to four, Charlie, now what has this got to do with anything?"

"Hank, it is getting dark! At a quarter to four? Look at the sky, Hank; something is not right."

"I've been in this trail dust for so long I haven't been paying attention to the sky, but, Charlie you're right it is getting dark back to the west. Tighten up the herd, Charlie - let's keep a sharp eye on that large ole monster storm that is heading our way. Keep them ponies in tight and snug, and we surely don't want to lose any of them."

No sooner than the words left Hank's lips a bolt of lightning struck a large water oak a couple of hundred feet off to their right. It shattered the tree with such a tremendous noise and vibration that it knocked Charlie from the back of his pinto on to the ground. Charlie got to his feet, and using his Stetson began to knock the dust off his clothes.

"Are you okay?" Without waiting for an answer, "Mount up, Charlie and get these horses into that little canyon up ahead. It will offer a little bit of protection."

The herd of horses was beginning to enter the mouth of the draw with Hank leading the pack. Charlie raced up beside Hank, "Hank what is that roaring noise?"

"Tornado! Tornado! Charlie, I see a cave ahead push the herd toward that opening, and I will go see how much room is inside."

The noise was deafening, tree limbs, pine cones, and other debris were flying through the air acting as death-dealing projectiles. The noise turned into a continuous roar. A roar so loud Hank could not speak to Charlie or the other drovers. He begins to pump his arm up and down giving every indication they should hurry.

Inside the cave entrance Hank sees the interior is large enough to fit his herd and another one if need be \- it is large; however, the lack of light is beginning to affect the horses. "Charlie, you and a couple of other wranglers get a few fires going. We need to get these ponies calmed down."

Within minutes Charlie has some fires burning, one at the entrance, one on a ledge on a side wall and one at the back of this vast, cavernous room. The final light was a simple campfire for the drovers to gather around, drink a cup of hot coffee and settle their nerves. The horses are still restless, but most are beginning to calm down. From the sound outside Hank and the others can hear tree trunks snapping like twigs, and the roar of the wind is almost unbearable to their ears.

"Hank I can hear how bad this tornado is, but is this the worst one you ever saw? And, Brother," said Charlie, "I am sure glad you found this, cave, I cannot even imagine what is going on outside. We could have lost the whole herd, but thanks to you and God we are all safe and sound inside this ole mountain."

Hank, squatting down on one knee, picks up a handful of pebbles from the ground and starts tossing them one by one into the glowing fire watching the sparks fly. "Nah, Charlie, this ain't the worse one. Poppa Scarburg told of one tornado that come swooshing through Jericho back in the spring of '71. That one was the biggest, loudest and the most powerful tornado anyone had ever seen. I forget how many Poppa said were killed and how many ranch houses and barns were destroyed. Poppa said, he had been working out on the back forty setting up a new fence. He had already had the holes dug and was getting ready to place the posts. Poppa said he and the ranch hands hid in a nearby ravine waiting for the tornado to past, Poppa mentioned after it had gone by him and his men went back to continue with the fencing, but they couldn't."

"What do you mean Hank? Why could they not continue building their fence?"

"You see Charlie, when they got back to the fence row all the holes was missing - gone, nothing was left. No holes, just dirt where they had been. That ole tornado had sucked them postholes right out of the ground. It was said Mr. Poole over on the neighboring ranch hitched up his horse and wagon and stacked most of them postholes on his wagon and brought them back to Poppa Scarburg, so he could finish his fence."

It took a minute or two for this tale to sink in. Finally, Charlie caught on, "Ah, shucks Hank," he said grinning, '"you had me going there for a bit, that was a good one. Funny too, but I am glad we are safe and sound in this cave, postholes or not."

No sooner had Charlie mentioned being safe when a loud crashing noise came from the cave's opening. "Hank! What was that noise up at the mouth of the cave?"

"I don't know, Charlie let's go see."

Pushing their way through the mass of Indian ponies Charlie and Hank find themselves at the cave's entrance. The news is bad. The entire access is obstructed by a huge tree. The tornado has blown the tree over blocking the opening to the cave. No way in and no way out. Charlie is right, the horses are safe, but now safety is not the priority issue as it was earlier. Now they are buried alive, and they must get out of this hole!

The men assemble at the entrance - all they have between them is a couple of Bowie knifes and a few two blade pocket knives. What they need is an ax or a crosscut saw. These two items they do not have. As the men stand talking, Hank looks at them and asks, "Anyone got an idea how we can get out of this place?"

There was a lot of mumbling among the drovers as they shuffled about nervously looking at the dirt floor. Some kick the sand, but no one comes up with a viable solution to the blockage.

"Hank," said Charlie, "while I was back in the rear of this cave I noticed a small hole up near the ceiling. Air was rushing in, but it was too tiny for even the smallest of us to scramble through."

"Charlie this is very interesting, but what does this have to do with getting out of this cave?"

"Hank, air is coming in through that small opening. This means the flow of air is to the front of the cave. What if we build a fire underneath that big ole tree and let it burn us a way out? With the air flowing out the smoke and embers will be blown out not in."

"Fine idea, Charlie. You men get started on that fire; we need to get the ponies back on the road heading south."

A few hours later the fire has consumed the vast majority of the tree blocking their escape route. Once the fire is out, and the embers have cooled enough the horses can escape into the outside world.

Charlie and Hank follow the last of the ponies. What greets them is a world they have not visualized. Trees are tossed willy-nilly, like God has taken his hand and wiped it across the face of the earth, strewing everything his hand touched. Boulders from the mountainside have rolled down and created a scene none of Hank's party have ever witnessed before.

The rain is coming down in wind-driven sheets. Hank believes if he could get the herd moving south they should be out of this devastated area and the effects of the storm in a matter of miles. He knows tornados which he had seen in the past, had cut a narrow path of destruction and he did not believe this one would be any different.

Getting up close to Charlie, Hank leans over and cups his hand close to Charlie's ear and said, "Charlie, get the men to head the herd south. Keep them bunched as close as possible, and watch out for the splintered timber, it will be everywhere. That rubble is a good place to get one of our ponies injured. In a mile or so we should be clear of the tornado's path and back into the undisturbed landscape."

Chapter Fifteen

YEARS LATER

Summer is almost over, and fall is drawing near on Jericho. Hank and Pa, sit on the front porch, the scent of fresh cut hay lying in the pastures permeates the air. "Is there anything as sweet smelling as newly cut hay?" Hank comments. Leaves are beginning to fall from the trees.

Pa, looking across that pasture full of horses and whiteface cows, "You know it's hard to believe so many years have gone by since Ringo, Charlie and you went to the Dakotas to get those fine Indian ponies. You know Hank, I really miss Ringo. If it had not been for the imperfect flight of Barking Dog's arrow that day, you would be buried on Black Raven Butte instead of Ringo. I have thought of that a lot over the years."

"Look, Pa at the red birds feeding under the bird feeder in the yard. You told me years ago that red birds represents the souls of friends and relatives that have departed, and you said when you see a red bird an angel is near. I hope that handsome one closest to us is the soul of my friend Ringo. It is strutting around just like he would do." Looking at the red bird, "Hello, my friend, be in good health." Hank said softly.

Pa sits in a wheelchair, with a quilt over his lap. He does not speak very much due to a stroke he suffered a few years back, but he grunts in agreement to Hank's words.

Over the years also, Jesse has, beginning with Joshua, developed a beautiful herd of Hereford stock. The whiteface cattle did just as Jesse predicted; they changed the cattle market in Texas. No longer were the long-horns the beef to raise. Yes, the long-horns are magnificent creatures, but pound for pound the whiteface will outdo them.

The cross between the Indian ponies and Jericho's Quarter Horses exceeded all expectations. The Army buys every horse Jericho can deliver, thanks in part to the U.S. Calvary contracts procured from their friend in Washington, Mr. Theodore Roosevelt.

Hank, Charlie and the few wranglers they hired got the Sioux horses and drove them all the way from the Dakotas to Texas. It was a daring, long adventure. They only lost one single pony on the trail south. They might have lost one horse, but they still had one tragedy to befall them worse than losing the horse. They lost their friend Ringo who lies peacefully buried east of the 'Five Grandfathers' on Black Raven Butte. But, they made new friends, the wranglers, most still work on the Jericho Ranch.

WAR NEWS

The nineteenth century is almost at its end, Jericho is thriving, and Jesse is still trying to convince Pa that the ranch should go to him, if God forbid, something drastic happens to his Pa. After the severe winter of 1886–87 wiped out his herd of cattle and those of his competitors, and over half of his $80,000 investment, Roosevelt leaves Chimney Butte and returns to the East, but he now keeps in constant contact with Hank from Washington, D.C. He leaves Indian Joe and Margarita as the caretaker of his ranch and house in the Dakotas.

Since leaving the Dakotas and returning to the political scene Mr. Roosevelt's career is constantly moving onward and upward. In some of the correspondence, Roosevelt reveals he has been appointed Secretary of the Navy. In truth, he said he has been appointed as Assistant Secretary of the Navy, but to Texas cattlemen such as the Scarburgs, with or without the title 'Assistant' is of little importance. To them, it is the same thing. His last couple of letters mentions the U.S. is having trouble with Spain, but he doesn't expand on the meaning, and living deep in the heart of Texas, it didn't have much importance to the breeding of cows and horses either.

As Hank and Pa sit on the front porch, Hank mentions he sees dust down toward the Jericho Gate. Peering hard, he said he can see a horse approaching which he believes might be Charlie. He sometimes said that Gate is better than a guard dog, it always announces when someone is coming toward the house.

Tying up his horse Charlie walks upon the porch, "Hank, Pa, I have just come in from town and the word there is the Spaniards have sunk one of our ships called the Maine in a place called Havana. Some say it is somewhere in Cuba, you ever heard of it? Or them Spaniards?"

"Charlie I believe I have heard of Cuba, seems like it is out in the ocean someplace close to Florida, but I'm not sure. Never heard tell of that ship the Maine. I know the Spaniards must be Spain, learned that in school. What do the folks in town think is gonna happen next?"

"The folks say the United States is going to declare war on those Spaniards so I guess we are getting into a fight. Me, you and Jesse going to go join up Hank?"

"Naw, whatever they are doin' ain't got nothing to do with Jericho. I say just let'um fight it out if they wanna go about killin' each other let 'em go at it."

"Yeah, that is what I was thinking too, but I was beginning to get a little scared."

"Ah, Charlie you go inside and grab a bite to eat, and we'll just let this thing blow over. If any more news develops, I'll let you know what's goin' on."

THE BLIZZARD

Pa, Hank, Jesse, and Charlie settle around the fireplace. "You know, Charlie, you're right, for October that wind blowing out of the north is mighty cold."

"Hank," said Jesse, "I remember Poppa Scarburg telling of a blizzard that came through these parts back in the late fall of '73 or '74, can't recollect exactly, but he said it was a bad one. He said he stuck an ax handle into the snow between the house and the barn and the snow was so deep it came all the way up to the ax blade. Now that was a snow to remember, right Pa?"

Pa now sitting in his rocking chair, legs covered with a blanket, holds up one hand and nods his head and grunts. He, once again, agrees the story that Jesse just told is correct.

"Hank," said Charlie, "I do not know much about the weather, but if my knee that the colt kicked has anything to say about it, there is snow in the air."

"Jesse, let's get down to the barn and make sure the wranglers move the cattle and horses over closer to the barn. We can use hay from the barn if need be. If snow does move in early; those critters are going to need something to eat, and they can't eat grass through cold, wet snow. Come on Charlie."

Jesse, Hank, and Charlie grab their coats, slap on their chaps and step off the porch heading toward the barn. "Jeez," said Charlie, "I believe that was sleet that just hit me in the eye."

"Yeah, it is beginning to sleet, and there is a little bit of snow mixed in with it too."

"See, I told you, my ole knee is never wrong. You can put money on it."

"I'm going to saddle Black Magic and ride over to the back sections and alert the wranglers over there. They need to move the stock from that area over here where we can keep an eye on all of 'em."

Before the three men can walk from the house to the barn, the sleet begins to turn to snow. The snow is coming down in flakes the size of quarters, slow at first, but gets falling so hard and heavy it is difficult to make out anything but the outline of the barn.

Hank has Black Magic saddled, and Jesse, as he opens the big, sliding barn door to let them out, exclaims, "Wow!" The snow is already two or three inches deep at the door. "Brothers, come here. Look how much snow has fallen in the short time we've been in the barn. Must be at least three inches out there, and it's still coming down mighty hard."

"Yeah, I better hurry over to the back section before it gets any worse. I'll see you fellers in a little while," He said moving Black Magic out into the snow.

Crossing the east pasture and opening the gate into the western sections, the snow is coming down so fast and furious he can hardly see. He ties his bandanna across his nose and mouth, but it is snowing so hard the kerchief hardly does any good. Moving through the gate and just using his instinct he finds the western barn and bunkhouse. Leaving Black Magic in the barn he manages to trudge his way to the bunkhouse; he opens the door his clothes covered from head to foot in snow.

One of the cowboys sitting around the big, hot, pot-belly stove turns and laughs, "Looks like a snowman just wandered in." The others in the room chuckle too, "Come on in, Hank and warm up. I'll pour you a hot cup of coffee." The foreman said.

Hank asks if the coffee is good? "Good hummm...all I'll say it's hot." Walking across the room to get a cup he adds, "Hank, what the heck you doin' comin' out in this blizzard?"

"When I left the big barn I intended to come over here, and we would move the livestock across to the eastern section close to the hay in our big barn, but the snow outside is at least eight to ten inches deep already, it's too late to try that. We'll definitely have to hunker down here and wait it out."

"Hank," said the foreman, "we've already moved the herd into the big corral and throwed out a bunch of hay bales for them to eat. They will make out fine, we have enough open sheds for them to get under, but one of the whiteface mothers did not have her calf with her. It was snowing so hard when we moved them into the corral we didn't notice she was missing her calf until later."

Hank had his gloves off sipping his hot coffee, standing next to the stove, "Where was she when you all started herding them back up here to the corrals?"

"Hank, you know that ole washed out draw, you know the one Poppa Scarburg used to get rid of those Comanches way back yonder, anyhow, a lot of the herd was in that area trying to find shelter from the storm. That's where we moved them from."

"I'll finish up this cup and go down there and see if I can find that little feller. He'll never survive this storm."

"Hank," replied the foreman, "I know how you like these whiteface cattle, but it ain't worth risking your life for just one calf."

"Yeah, I know John, but you know me, I have to try."

By the time Hank reaches the Indian burial spot the snow is almost too deep for Black Magic to walk through. The snow is coming down so hard, at least an inch or two per hour; even if he and Black Magic walk right by the calf, Hank probably would not see it.

The wind, along with the snow, is brutal too. All Hank can hear is the roaring of the storm through the pine trees. If someone had been sitting on a horse next to him, they would have found it hard to talk to each other.

"I know boy," Hank said patting Black Magic on the neck, "we've done all we can, this storm is absolutely too bad. Let's me and you go back to the bunkhouse. I know you're cold and tired, I am too. You'll be warm in the barn. Just hang on a little longer, little buddy."

No sooner has Hank uttered these words to his horse the wind seems to calm and die down for a few seconds; however, the snow does not let up at all. Hank pulls on Black Magic's reins to turn him back toward the safety of the bunkhouse and barn, but just as they are turning Hank hears a faint sound. Is that the lost whiteface? If only the wind would subside for another few seconds, Hank could determine from which direction the sound came; he could find out if it was the little lost critter.

Black Magic hears the sound too. He raises his ears and turns his head to the left. There it is again, and Black Magic's ears are correct, the soft bawling sound is off to Hank's left. Through the snow, Hank can see nothing, but he and Black Magic turn to the left and strain their eyes trying to see through the large flakes of snow. Within a few feet, Black Magic suddenly stops, the baby calf is almost up to his waist deep in snow, and lying at the horse's feet. The little guy has gone as far as he can go, if Hank and Black Magic had not found him, he was a goner for sure.

Hank dismounts, throws the little calf over his saddle and starts back to the safety of the bunkhouse and barn, but it was too late. The snow is now so deep even Black Magic is having difficulty trying to walk.

THE MINE

"We must find shelter," Hank said out loud to Black Magic. "But where?" As though his horse understands every word he is saying. Since Black Magic was a colt Hank has talked to him as he would another person, and sometimes Hank believes Black Magic understands what he is saying.

Hank suddenly remembers, years before Poppa Scarburg bought Jericho, a prospector thought gold was to be found in these rocky cliffs and ledges. He dug a gold mine, but to his disappointment, discovered no gold and eventually abandoned his claim and left. But, Hank doesn't remember where this mine shaft is located - if he could find the mine in this blizzard he, Black Magic and the baby calf can weather this storm protected from the elements.

Black Magic somehow senses what Hank is thinking, and turns directly west trying to find the base of the rocky cliff. He knows by following the rocky cliff north he will find the entrance to the mine. As a young colt, he, Hank and Charlie would come play in the dry gulches and pick around the few remaining bones of the dead Indians that Poppa Scarburg buried years earlier. The boys would look for arrowheads, beads and such Indian artifacts. Over the years, the buzzards, coyotes, wolfs and other critters had destroyed all traces of that massacre back in the '70s. However; the boys would never go into the old mine shaft \- stories had been told that the ole prospector still lived in there and would kill anyone coming onto his claim, as young boys, they believed the story. However, Black Magic still remembered the old mine shaft. Hank realized Black Magic knew where he was going and he gave him a free rein.

Today, with the wild freezing, northern winds howling Hank believes, if the legend were true, he'd truly fight that ole prospector for a place to ride out this storm in safety. Once Black Magic finds the cliff he turns north, now it is only a matter of time before he finds the mine's entrance.

Checking around the inside of the mine Hank cannot find much wood to burn; however, he notices the walls are covered with black rocks - coal!

In a few minutes, he has a hot, blazing fire going, and using the coal as fuel the inside of the mineshaft is becoming warm and comfortable. The saddlebags Hank threw on Black Magic as he left the main barn contain a coffee pot, a bag of coffee and some beef jerky. After a warm meal, his belly is full, the coffee is hot, and he and his two buddies are toasty as can be. Jerky isn't much for a horse and baby calf to eat, but it was food and a lot better than nothing. Snow melted over the fire provides water for them to quench their thirst. Looking over at Black Magic and the little calf, both warming by the fire, Hank pats his horse on the neck, "Thanks, ole boy, thanks for remembered this hole in the rocks. You saved our necks today."

SAFE

Back at the bunkhouse, two days pass. The temperature has fallen to well below zero. The foreman suggests they form a search party and go out and look for Hank's body. No one, not even Hank Scarburg can, at this temperature, survive two days in this blizzard. The men are beginning to gather their gear as the front door of the bunkhouse flies opens. "Hey, fellers where is that little calf's mother. I've got a surprise for her."

"What!" said John, "we thought you was a goner for sure Hank," looking out the door he sees the little calf over Hank's saddle, "and you found that little dude too. How in the world...?"

"Ah," said Hank, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Was nothing...nothing any good cowboy couldn't have done." He said grinning.

'Shucks," said John, "I don't know how you done it, but thank God you're back safe and sound. Pull up a chair and tell us how you did it." Turning to a couple of the other wranglers he gives orders to take Black Magic and the calf to the barn, and find the calf's mother. Speaking to Hank, "There ain't nobody that could have spent two days in knee deep snow and temperatures at or below zero and survived but a Scarburg. You beat all, Hank Scarburg, you just beat it all!"

Chapter Sixteen

WAR

In April 1898, Roosevelt resigned as Assistant Secretary of the Navy. He wants to be in the fighting war. He forms the 1st Volunteer Cavalry Regiment and is determined to fight those murdering Spaniards face to face. The press and others are already calling his outfit the "Rough Riders," made up mostly of horsemen from all walks of life. But one thing the Cavalry, and especially Mr. Roosevelt, needs is horses. Good horses, with plenty of stamina and drive. The mounts the Army provide are not sufficient to the test, but luckily he knows of someplace that has the perfect Cavalry mount - the Jericho Ranch and his friend Hank Scarburg in Texas.

Roosevelt's wife and most of his close friends plead with him to give up this foolish notion and remain at the Navy Department. Not only is he not going to stay safe and sound in Washington he is going to war and is going to get his friend and excellent horseman Hank to come with him! 'Who could make a better cavalryman than Hank Scarburg?'

Although there is no draft for the Spanish-American War Colonel Roosevelt knows the boys in Texas would not know this, so he composes a letter on official Department of the Army stationary and sends the following to Hank by courier on Tuesday:

6 May 1898

War Department

V Corps - 1st Division

First Volunteer Cavalry Regiment

Austin, Texas

ATTENTION TO ORDERS:

The following individual is hereby ordered to report to the 1st Volunteer Cavalry Regiment presently stationed at Ft. Sam Houston, San Antonio, Texas, post haste. The individual HASKELL EDWARD SCARBURG is hereby promoted to the rank of CAPTAIN in the United States Army Reserves, and service severance date will be at the cessation of hostilities.

Captain Scarburg is also ordered to take the first train available and bring all the saddle mounts that he has available at his disposal.

Orders and transportation documents attached.

Theodore Roosevelt Jr

THEODORE ROOSEVELT, Jr

Lt. Colonel

First Volunteer Cavalry Regiment

Commanding

ORDERS

It is Thursday, May 8 before the U.S. Army courier bringing Colonel Roosevelt's 'draft notice' arrives at the Jericho Ranch. The courier has ridden day and night since leaving V Corp, 1st Division at Austin, Texas on Tuesday. He only stops to water and rest his horse and grab a wink or two for himself. As an old Cavalryman, he had long ago learned to sleep still sitting in his old MacLellan Army saddle, allowing the horse to make its own way.

Pa Scarburg is sitting on the front porch when the soldier ties his horse to the hitching rail and steps upon the porch. Pa sees this Army man has stripes from his shoulder almost to his elbow. It is pretty obvious he isn't any man's private. Pa motions him to take a seat in one of the porch rockers as Hank opens the screen door and greets the man with a firm handshake.

"How do you do Sir, I'm Sergeant Major Michael Thomas of the 1st Volunteer Regiment, soon to be out of Fort Sam Houston in San Antone. I'm looking for Captain Haskell Scarburg," said the Sergeant.

"Welcome to Jericho, Sergeant Thomas, I'm Haskell Scarburg, but I'm not quite sure about the 'Captain' part, but what can I do for you?"

"Sir, most of my men, call me 'Top,' and, if it wouldn't be a problem, could I have a glass of water. It has been a hot and thirsty ride from San Antonio, and my canteen has been empty for going on two hours."

"Forgive my manners, Sergeant, sorry, Top, of course I'll get you the water. Pa, do you need anything?"

A wave of his hand indicates Pa is good. Upon Hank's return with Sergeant Thomas's drink of fresh well water, he is dying to find out what is the mission on which the Sergeant has been sent.

"Again, Top, what can we do for you. You seem to have come with an important purpose. May I ask what it is?"

"Yes, Sir, I was sent to deliver this package that I have in this pouch around my neck," he said removing the leather bag. He withdraws a large yellow envelope and hands it to Hank. Hank strips the top off and takes out a sheet of paper. Without a word, Hank quietly reads the order, looks at his father, and silently reads it again.

In a hushed voice, Pa asks, "What is it son, what news does this soldier bring?"

Again, Hank reads the paper and said, "Pa, it's from Theodore Roosevelt, he has drafted me into the Army. It says here he is promoting me to the rank of Captain and I'm to meet him at San Antone with as many cavalry horses as I can muster up. He signed the orders as a Lt. Colonel, so I suppose he quit the Navy job and went back into the Army."

Jesse and Charlie join them as Hank finishes reading the order for the third or fourth time. "Brother," said Charlie, "what is going on? Why would Mr. Roosevelt want you in the Army?"

"I'm guessing it has something to do with that Maine ship thing and the war with Spain, but I've never been in the Army, why does Mr. Roosevelt think I could be of use."

Sergeant Major Thomas who has remained silent up to now speaks up, "Sir, if I may."

"Certainly, Sergeant Thomas, jump right in, we need some explanation."

"It's not my place to explain the high brass in the U.S. Army, Sir, but I'm on Colonel Roosevelt's staff and have a pretty good idea what they have envisioned for you."

"Yes, yes, go ahead, Top. Let me in on it."

"Colonel Roosevelt has been put in charge of a volunteer Cavalry regiment. Most of the men are raw recruits with little if no experience with Army horses. That's where you come in - the Colonel knows you are an expert horseman and he is going to use you to teach his men to be expert horsemen too. He also knows your horses are the best Cavalry horses in the world, and he will need the best during our invasion of the island of Cuba to fight the Spanish."

"But, Sergeant Thomas, me a Captain. Why? I have never been in the Army and surely have never been to war. How am I supposed to lead men in battle?"

"I understand, son... sorry, Captain, I've been in this man's Army goin' on thirty-three years, got in the day before Bobby Lee surrendered at Appomattox. I was sixteen years old then, and have always said," he drops his head and grins, "if I'd been a little bit older a little bit sooner I could have ended that dreadful war a lot quicker."

"You see what I mean, at least you've been around the military most of your adult life. Me, I would barely know how to salute anyone."

"Listen, Captain, all you've got to do is get on your horse, draw your saber in one hand, with the other hand grab hold of the leather reins, spur your mount in the side and point his head toward the enemy and holler, 'Come on men, follow me.' That's all there is to learn about being an officer and a gentleman."

"But, Top there's got to be a lot more than that to being a Captain and a gentleman."

"OJT, Captain, OJT."

"What does OJT mean Top?"

"On the Job Training. Now let's get them horses to the railhead and on to San Antone. They might start this war without us, and we sure don't want to miss it."

"Sez you Top, sez you."

BEFORE LEAVING JERICHO

Before leaving Jericho, Hank needs a moment when he can speak to Jesse alone.

"Brother," said Hank, "I've never gone to war before, so I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say or do."

"Hank, I don't neither, but I sure would like to go too."

"I understand Jesse, but somebody's gotta stay here and look after Jericho. Pa ain't gettin' any younger, and he might not be around when I get back. So here's what I got in mind - if something happens to me and I don't come back I want Jericho to go to you and Charlie. If for some reason both of us don't make it the ranch is yours. I know that is what Mama wanted, she told me if something happened to Charlie and me she wanted you to have Jericho."

"I hear you Hank, but Ma's been gone nearly eight years now, things change."

"No, not this. Top told me and Charlie we need to write up a piece of paper called a 'Last Will and Testament' that tells what we want to be done with our stuff just in case. Charlie and I did, and both of them letters are in Mama's old box on the mantle over the fireplace. Take care of the place Jess, and I guess without Charlie and me, you'll finally get that whiteface cattle ranch."

"Don't worry, Hank, if you and Charlie ain't here Jericho is still gonna be raising whitefaces and Cavalry ponies, rest assured, oh, I didn't mean to say 'rest assured' I meant 'be assured'.

Good luck to you both, and it won't be very long until I see your two ugly faces coming through the Jericho Gate. Keep safe my two Brothers - keep safe."

LEAVING JERICHO

Sitting on their horses in the swirling, Texas dust caused by the corralling of almost one-hundred head of Jericho horses before moving the herd to San Antone to board the train to Fort Sam Houston, the three men, Hank, Charlie and Top with kerchiefs over their faces try to talk. "Top there's one thing I didn't bring up on the front porch when you arrived."

"Sir, what was that Captain?"

"My brother Charlie here - I won't go if Charlie can't come too."

"That's no problem, Colonel Roosevelt, figured that's what you'd say too. There is an order in my bag appointing Charlie, a Lieutenant in 'A' Company of the 1st Volunteer Regiment. You are the Company Commander of 'A' Company so you can keep an eye on him. The Colonel said to tell you it is okay for you and Charlie to bring Black Magic and Lil Sue too."

"Little OJT together, huh Top?"

Laughing, Top merely tips the brim of his Stetson with his gloved hand rides off to see after the mounts.

Looking over his shoulder, "OJT Captain, remember OJT."

Chapter Seventeen

FORT SAM HOUSTON, TEXAS

Reaching the railhead at Fort Sam Houston, Texas, and after unloading all the Cavalry mounts Hank, Charlie and Top report to the 1st Volunteer Regiment's Commanding Officer (C.O.). The Headquarters (HQ) of the 1st Volunteers has been relocated from Austin, Texas and is now located on a slight hill overlooking the training facilities and behind the Regiment's small, brick 12-man post hospital.

The Orderly enters the Colonel's office, salutes and announces, "Sir, Captain Scarburg, Lieutenant Scarburg and Sergeant Major Thomas are here to see the Colonel."

Looking up from his desk, the C.O. shuffles the papers into a neat little stack, "Yes, yes, by all means, Corporal, send them in immediately!" Lt. Colonel Roosevelt moves across the room and greets the three men as they enter his office.

"Sir," said Hank, "Captain Scarburg, Lieutenant Scarburg and Sergeant Major Thomas are reporting as ordered, Sir."

"Oh, dispense with this fancy military mumbo-jumbo, grab a chair fellers and tell me all about your trip from Jericho. I want to hear it all."

Hank was the first to speak, "Begging the Colonel's pardon Sir, but the trip was uneventful, and the Jericho horses were delivered safe and sound, full of piss and vinegar, just as you requested. What we want to know: what is going on? Are we goin' to War, and where is the War going to be? We have been on pins and needles since receiving your orders delivered by Sergeant Major Thomas."

"Boys," said the Colonel, "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you two. Yes," he said smiling broadly, "I'm finally going to get my turn behind the cannon. War! War! Thought it was going to pass me by, but I am dee-lighted, we're going to Cuba and put the saber to those bloody Spaniards. We're going to show them what good old American Cavalry can do to them." Dee-lighted and bloody were frequently used words by Roosevelt since he originated from an aristocratic family of Oster Bay on Long Island. A family with a history steeped deeply in the culture and language of the English upper-class and lineage ties to his Du Pont, Astor and Goodyear relatives.

"I see," Hank said, "but, Colonel what do you want with Charlie and me?"

"My 1st Volunteer Regiment is already being named by the press as the 'Rough Riders,' and bloody if they aren't right, when you see 'em you'll agree. They can ride pretty well, but I want you two Texans to teach them how to sit a pony like the Indians. I want them to be able to ride and shoot holding their reins between their teeth if need be. I want you to make them live up to their name: the Rough Riders. Most of my Rough Riders are from the south, and we are paired with the 10th Negro Cavalry, and we will be the first two units ashore in Cuba. I want you to make sure both Cavalry outfits form a close-knit fighting unit that will see only the Spanish enemy and not the color of each other's skin. Do I make myself clear?"

All three men nod in agreement and unison, "Yes Sir."

'A' COMPANY

"Top," asks, Captain Scarburg, "fall the men into formation and dress them down (line them up), as their Company Commander I need to speak to them and give them their orders."

"Yes, Sir, Captain" - yelling orders, "Company 'A' 'Fall In,' Dress right dress, Cover." The men have formed three platoons consisting of four squads of thirteen men or two-hundred eight troopers. Lieutenant Charlie Scarburg is assigned as Platoon Leader of 1st Platoon and takes his position at the front of his platoon.

Captain Scarburg dismounts and takes his position in front of 'A' for Alpha, Company. The men are equipped with Springfield bolt-action Krag rifles in .30-40 caliber. They have gotten the issue of their cartridges, their Colt .38 pistols, clothing, shelter-tents, and horse gear. Officers of the regiment each receive a new lever-action .30 caliber, Winchester rifle. The Rough Riders all are issued razor sharp, Bowie fighting knifes.

Their uniforms consist of Brown Slouch hats, blue flannel shirts, brown trousers, leggings and boots, and a kerchief knotted about their necks. They look just like cavalry troopers should look. Their rugged, western appearance is partly the reason they are named the 'Rough Riders.'

As he stands before them, Captain Scarburg explains how their training is to be accomplished. He tells them their training is not going to be standard for an Army cavalry unit. They will work on basic military drills, protocol, and training involving conduct, obedience, and etiquette, of course. One major change in Cavalry training: they will not use the Cavalry saber. Instead, they will be using their rifles and pistols as their primary and secondary fighting weapons.

A few weeks later Captain Scarburg calls another assembly of 'A' Company. He thanks the men for proving they were eager to adapt to the training as provided. He also tells them he knew they, for the most part, are experienced horsemen, but they have to sharpen their abilities in riding, fighting from horseback and learning the military methods of formations and skirmishing.

He also explains that the time for training is about to cease and he is expecting orders to arrive at any time for the unit to move out.

Captain Scarburg is not wrong - they soon receive orders. On May 29, 1898, over one thousand Rough Riders and their horses and mules are preparing to board the Southern Pacific railroad in San Antonio, Texas. They are to travel overland from Texas, through Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama to Tampa, Florida where they will embark by ship to Cuba.

DISPUTE LOADING HORSES

"Major," Hank speaks to the officer loading the horses onto the train. "Major, I believe the horses should stand with the heads facing rearward, not forward. It will keep a lot of them from getting sick."

"Who do think you are talking to Captain? I outrank you, can you not see I am a Major, and you know nothing about loading horses? You western imbecile, how do you come off trying to question my orders?"

"Major, Sir, I'm not trying to interfere with your position nor your orders, and certainly not trying to be insubordinate, but Sir, I was specifically ordered to be in charge of the horses, and that includes their loading and care."

"Who in the hell would be a stupid enough idiot to put an uneducated, wet behind the ears Texas galoot in charge of anything, especially these fine Cavalry horses? And appoint him a Captain of all things, I would not appoint you a mere Private. I am a real officer, an official graduate of West Point, I've got the Point's ring right here on my finger, and I've been in this man's Army almost fifteen years. I believe I know a thing or two about the Army and Cavalry horses. Now get the hell out of my way before I bring you up on charges."

Before Hank can answer, a rider approaches who has overheard the heated words between the Major and Captain Scarburg. Straightening his spectacles on his nose and standing part way in the saddle he announces in a loud voice, "I am that stupid idiot Major, Lt. Colonel Theodore Roosevelt, Commanding Officer of the 1st Volunteer Regiment, of which, I believe you are the Adjutant, is this not correct?"

Turning in his saddle to address the Colonel, "Sir, Yes Sir, I am the Adjutant of the 1st Volunteer Regiment, Colonel, Sir, I'm sorry, Sir I was unaware of your orders and the, Captain's position."

"Major, this Texas galoot of which you speak has probably loaded more Cavalry horses onto rail freight cars than you have ever seen. He has been supplying horses to the U. S. Army's Cavalry for years, in fact, most of these very ponies are from his Jericho Ranch in Texas. The mount you are sitting on probably was bred and reared on his ranch. I, Sir, believe you are the galoot and a snobbish West Point one at that. I hereby immediately reduce you to the rank of Captain," looking at Hank, "and appoint you, Captain Scarburg as my new Adjutant." Saluting, Colonel Roosevelt turns his horse and starts to rides off. Looking over his shoulder, "Take over, Major Scarburg."

Hank turns to the new Captain, "Let's get them horses turned around, Captain, and let's get Black Magic and Lil Sue loaded in a car by themselves too. I don't want my two horses hurt by some of these Mustangs."

"Yes, Cap...Major, right away."

Chapter Eighteen

TRAVEL TO TAMPA, FLORIDA

Lying on the hay in one of the cattle cars Charlie said to Hank, "Congrats on your 'battlefield' promotion Hank, I hear the Colonel jacked the Major over the coals pretty hard before he demoted him to Captain. What do you think about being the 1st Volunteer's Adjutant?"

"About the same as I thought about being the Company Commander of 'A' Company, I didn't know what to do there, and I sure don't know what an Adjutant does. By the way, don't get up on your high horse just yet - I'm going to recommend to, Colonel Roosevelt that you be promoted to Captain and take over 'A' Company, so when you find out what a Company Commander's job is, please let me know."

"Please, Hank, do not do me any favors, I mean, Major Scarburg."

"Come on, Charlie; it's still me Hank."

"Okay, Hank, where do you suppose we are right now."

"Hold on a sec, let's see if we can figure it out. It's about 1,200 miles from San Antone to Tampa, and we have to stop to give the horses a rest and water every four to six hours. We've been in these cattle cars about four hours, so we must be somewhere in Louisiana. I'd say in the vicinity of New Orleans.

The train pulls onto a side spur and stops. Word is passed down the train to unload the horses into a large field next to the train to give them a break. A lot of the stud horses will not urinate on the train; they have to be out in a grass-covered pasture, this stop gives them this chance to relieve themselves. It is just a horse thing; no one knows why they are like that.

THE WRECK

Back on the train heading out of Mobile, Alabama and toward Tallahassee, Florida Hank and Charlie are resting once again on the hay. Both are deep asleep. The first noise heard to indicate there is trouble is a constant blast of the trains steam whistle. It isn't its normal single blast, followed a second later with another wail. This sound is a mighty, solitary howl with no let-up, something is up, and it isn't good.

Hank is so deep in sleep that the blast of the train's steam whistle barely stirs him. "Charlie! Charlie, get up something is happening up front near the engine."

Charlie rubs his eyes and sits up, "What is going on, Hank? Why do you think something is happening?"

"It's the whistle, Charlie, listen." Both stop talking and turn their heads so they might better hear.

Before they have an opportunity to hear anything the rail car suddenly shakes and violently turns on its side. Hank and Charlie are sent flying through the air, both strike the side of the car with a violent force. Charlie is knocked unconscious, Hank is not badly hurt, but he is rattled enough he has to shake his head to clear his thinking. 'What's happening'? He sees the boxcar is lying on its side, a number of the horses in the car seem injured, they are whimpering and flailing around. Hank struggles to free himself without getting hurt himself. He can see some horses have broken legs, others have severe cuts, and two have been killed. When one loves horses as much as Hank, seeing his animals hurt is heartbreaking.

A minute or two later shouts and pounding on the outside come voices asking about the status of himself, Charlie and the horses? Hank answers that he isn't injured, but, Charlie is knocked unconscious, and he is not sure how many injuries, Charlie has sustained. But, he said the horses themselves, are in bad shape and needs assistance immediately. He inquires to the cause of the derailment. The best answer is their train ran upon another freight train that was sitting dead on the track. This train was evidently sitting still on the wrong track. His next question is about Black Magic and Lil Sue? One of the soldiers walking next to the track explains to Hank that the car carrying Black Magic and Lil Sue did not derail and both animals have survived with no injuries.

Hank is worried about Charlie; he can see no visible signs of injury except a large, knot and a big purple, bruise on his forehead. He is afraid he might have a concussion or even something worse, he could be bleeding inside his head.

Hank puts him down on a large pile of hay and spreads a saddle blanket over him to make him as comfortable as possible. The boxcar is lying on its side with its sliding door on the bottom - there is no way to escape the car. The other sliding door is wedged and cannot be opened. It gets worse - Hank can smell smoke; the train is pulled by a steam engine. And now it seems the coal-fired boiler has set the train on fire. They're caught in a sealed boxcar, no way out, with many injured horses, Charlie needing immediate medical attention, and now the train is on fire. Hank is in a precarious position, but he always has, since a small boy, taken a situation head-on and will not submit to defeat. As he looks around the boxcar, Hank is trying to evaluate their position. The only thing he finds is a small ventilation door on the top of the boxcar. He needs something to help get it open, in his boot, he always carries his large Bowie knife. Using it he extracts the screws and removes the cover. The space is small but after removing his uniform and gun belt he can wiggle and squeeze through the narrow opening and fall on the cool, dew-covered, grass on the outside of the rail car.

Hank looks up and down the rail line and sees many of the rail cars dislodged from the tracks and derailed, even in the darkness he can see the first two or three are on fire. Soldiers are running to and fro with no seeming purpose or order. Confusion abounds. No one knows what to do.

Standing in the grass, dressed in nothing but his long johns and boots, Hank starts shouting out orders, "1st Volunteers assemble on me. Assembly on me, Major Scarburg, assemble, assemble!"

One by one the men drift down from the front and the rear of the train. The men appear to be in shock. Once the majority of the men assemble Hank gives the following orders: "Men go from car to car taking whatever pieces of metal you can find and break into the cars and get the men and horses out. We must save all we can as fast as we can. You ten men go forward and put out the fires in the engine."

The rescue went on the rest of the night and into the next morning. Rescuers also came from the small towns close to the tracks, bringing sledgehammers, handsaws and best of all manpower to help in the rescue.

As the sun rises the next morning all the dead, maimed and injured have been removed from the derailed train. A count of the men and horses reveals over one-hundred horses have been outright killed or had to be put to sleep. Over fifty 1st Volunteer troopers have either lost their lives or been seriously injured in the crash.

The Regiment surgeon checks Charlie and determines he has a slight concussion and should be closely watched for the next couple of days, but he should, if all goes well, make a full recovery.

Chapter Nineteen

TAMPA, FLORIDA

The remainder of the men, horses, and equipment finally unload at the cattle yards in Tampa, Florida. Once the horses are stabled and settled, Hank sets out to find the HQ of the Fifth Army Corps, and in particular the 1st Volunteer Regiment's HQ.

An enormous tent city has been constructed almost as far as the eye can see. Consisting of the 1st Infantry, 71st New York, the 2nd Massachusetts Infantry, and 1st North Carolina, 1st U.S. Volunteer Cavalry Regiment, the 9th Cavalry Regiment and the 10th Colored Cavalry Regiment all under the command of Lieutenant General William R. Shafter's 5th Corps. It takes hundreds of tents and a great deal of land for the soldiers and all their equipment.

It isn't long before Hank sees a large tent with two soldiers guarding its entrance. He also sees a red flag with three stars fluttering in the breeze next to one of the guards. 'Three stars,' he thinks, 'the General is at home.'

Hank explains to the guards his reason for requesting to see the Corp Commander they escort him into the tent. Sitting at a large mahogany desk at the rear of the tent is the 5th Corp Commander, Lieutenant General William Shafter, standing next to him the Cavalry boss, Major General Joseph Wheeler Commander of the Cavalry Division. General Wheeler, a distinguished cavalry leader during the Civil War, although he was on the southern side, still feels as if he is still fighting the Yankees. Next to him is Colonel Leonard Wood who, at the end of June, will be promoted Commander of the Cavalry Division's Second Brigade, and Roosevelt will become, officially the Commanding Officer of the 1st Volunteer Regiment.

"Sir," said Major Scarburg, coming to attention in front of General Shafter's desk, holding his salute he continues, "Major Scarburg, reporting the transport of the Cavalry mounts from Texas to Tampa, Florida."

Looking up from his desk, General Shafter returns Hank's salute, "Continue, Major, what is the situation."

"Sir, I'm afraid I do not have good news to report. In the southern part of Alabama, we rear-ended another freight train which had stopped on the track. We derailed, losing a good portion of our Calvary mounts to death or injury. Thirty troopers were also killed outright, and another twenty were critically injured."

"Indeed, this is bad news, but we will merely have to soldier on. Gentlemen, you will attempt to resupply the Cavalry mounts and bring in replacement men for those injured before we leave this place on 13 June. This date should be regarded as 'Secret' and need not be discussed with the men."

Colonel Roosevelt pulls Major Scarburg aside. "Hank, old boy, we've less than a fortnight to get ready to embark from this place for Cuba."

"Yes, Sir."

"Hank, grab the next train out of here and get Charlie and yourself back to Texas. Round up as many mounts as you can lay your hands on, money is no object. Load these animals onto another freight train and be back here no later than the 12th of June. A day going and a day to return should give you a little over a week to gather up another herd of horses."

"I understand Sir, but I stripped Jericho of every horse that we had, including Black Magic and Lil Sue, but some of the other ranches have horses, but they are not quite the quality of our ponies."

"Jolly good, that's the spirit, my good man. See what you and Charlie can do."

"Very good, Sir, we'll be off at first light in the morning."

Less than a week later Hank and Charlie return from Texas with one hundred-eight Quarter Horses. They left San Antonio with one hundred-ten but lost two on the train journey to Florida. Colonel Roosevelt was dee-lighted to see his men and their load of Cavalry ponies.

"Major Scarburg, we have received shipping orders. Have all the horses on the shipping dock the morning of the 13th. We're going to load aboard the transport ships with disembarkment to Cuba," Roosevelt states.

On the morning of 13 June 1898, Hank has the unenvious job of informing the men of the 1st Volunteer Cavalry that there aren't sufficient ship transports available to send the entire Regiment to Cuba. There are just enough transports to load five of the twelve companies; however, more disappointment is ahead when the Regiment arrives at the dock. The Dock Loadmaster informs Hank there are no ships on hand for even the five companies of the 1st Volunteer Cavalry and he could not hazard a guess when any more vessels would become available.

Hank relays this disconcerting news to Colonel Roosevelt. Roosevelt takes the pronouncement and sits at his desk staring at nothing in particular. "Sir," said Hank, "Sir," he asks again, "Colonel, what are my orders?"

Pulling himself together, Colonel Roosevelt, arises from his chair, grabs his hat and sword and marches out into the morning sun. "Bloody, hell, I'll see about this." And off he goes at his usual blistering pace. At the dock, he confronts the Dock Loadmaster demanding to see the Office of the Harbormaster. He and Hank charge inside slamming the door behind. The Loadmaster stands silently outside, with his ear to the door, trying to hear what the heated words are being said inside. In a couple of minutes, Roosevelt and Hank emerge with the Harbormaster following closely saying over and over, 'Yes, Sir, yes, Sir.'

Looking at the Loadmaster, "What's that ship there?" Roosevelt asks.

"It's the Livie Lou, Sir."

"Bring her alongside we're loading my Regiment on that ship." Turning to Hank, "Make preparations Major Scarburg to load our men, horses and equipment." With this command, Roosevelt departs in the same hurried manner in which he arrived.

Trying to keep up with Roosevelt the Loadmaster is asking, "But... but..., Sir, I cannot move the Livie Lou without the Harbor Master's approval."

Without stopping, Roosevelt said over his shoulder, "Then I suggest you ask him, immediately. Sir, get that ship moving, now!"

The Loadmaster looks confused and speaks to Hank, "Major, how did he get the Harbormaster to relinquish the Livie Lou to a mere Colonel?"

"Sir, he may only be a mere, Colonel, as you say, now, but he was only months ago the Assistant Secretary of the entire U.S. Navy. I suppose he still has the ears of some high ranking Admirals in Washington. At least they were high enough to outrank your Harbormaster."

Chapter Twenty

OFF TO CUBA & THE WAR

The 1st Volunteer Regiment, with only a few of the officer's horses, and just the minimal amount of supplies are two days sailing out of the port of Tampa. Charlie and Hank sitting on the deck along with hundreds of the other troopers when Charlie asks, "Hank, without the horses how are us Cavalrymen supposed to fight this war we are going to?"

All the troopers within earshot gather around Hank; they want to know the answer to that question too. "Fellers," Hank begins, "without the horses, I believe we are now called U.S. Infantrymen. Good ole American foot soldiers. We'll simply do the best we can on the ground. I know y'all don't like it, I don't also, but it was either leave Tampa without our horses and most of our supplies or stay there and miss the war. We trained too hard in that hot, Texas sun, to remain behind."

"Right on!... Damn straight!... Hell yes!... We ain't gold bricks!... Let us at them Spanish dogs!"... The men around Hank and Charlie continue to yell derogatory remarks directed at the Spanish.

Later as the men quieten down and return to their card games, books and magazines, Charlie softly questions Hank again, "Now, Hank, you know I am not scared going down to this Cuba place and fighting, but I sure would feel much better fighting sitting my butt in a saddle. I am not one for fighting on the ground. You know what I mean? Injuns have always fought from the back of a horse."

"Finally, so you going to admit you're an Indian, huh, Coe-manch? Now, this is a day to remember. If I kept a journal, I'd make special care to write this down. I'll tell you what, Charlie, my little Injun Brother, the Regiment will need a 'runner' once we get into the fighting. You know we brought your beautiful Lil Sue with us, so once we land, go back to the horse corral and pick her up, and you can be my official Regimental dispatch runner. I hate to see an 'Injun' having to walk. Absolutely make sure not to pick out the Generals or the Colonel's horse."

"Heck, Hank I could recognize Lil Sue in the dark. And quit making fun of me, you know I am not a real Indian."

ARRIVAL

The shipload of Cavalry, now relegated to being infantrymen, arrive on the Cuban shores 23 June 1898. The Regiment promptly unloads the small amount of equipment and the few horses they carry with them. They establish a HQ and have orders to remain in that encampment until higher Headquarters issues further orders. After the war when the Commanders in Washington, D. C. review the results and the conduct of the theater of operations they conclude one of the shortfalls of the campaign was the lack of adequate transportation. One deficiency was the Regiment's mules. These mules were the backbone of the movement of their supplies, and they were still in Tampa. Without these mules, the men had to carry only a couple of days rations, ammunition, and supplies on their backs. These men trained as Cavalrymen, not foot soldiers, and marching long distances in hot, humid, jungle conditions was to take a toll on the fighting ability of the men.

BATTLE OF LAS GUASIMAS

The base camp is operational as orders are received to send out a reconnaissance patrol. Charlie's 'A' Squad of Scouts is selected since Hank knows Charlie can see the signs and know which trails to follow. He may be a Captain in this man's army, but he's still an Indian at heart.

The Spanish think they have a significant advantage over the American intruders - they know the twisted trails, the hills, and hollows, and they know all the hiding places in the jungle. They are overconfident knowing the paths the Americans would be marching over and where the best positions to ambush the infidels would be. The Spaniards think they have the upper hand, but they didn't know the Americans have a secret weapon - Captain Charlie Scarburg, a dyed-in-the-wool American Comanche. An Indian who can track the scent of an enemy soldier, in the jungle, after rain, or at night when the enemy has already moved through an area. In some places the bush is too thick for the Americans to see through, this isn't an advantage to the Spaniards, it is an opportunity for Charlie to guide his Scouts through the jungle unopposed.

Upon receiving orders to recon the jungle area, Charlie strips off his army jacket exposing his bare chest. He takes a bandanna, and one eagle feather from his pack and ties the cloth around his head and inserts the feather. Grabbing a little axle grease from one of the artillery piece's wheel he smears in on his face Indian style, removes his boots and scampers barefoot into the underbrush. The remaining Scout members, shake their heads and follow the best they can.

On 24 June the Scouts from 'A' Company forge their way into the dense jungle and soon return with a report they have spotted a Spanish outpost called Las Guasimas. Charlie slips in close enough to number the defenders, but on his way back to his men he is surrounded by a group of ten Spanish soldiers, and although Charlie kills and wounds over half the enemy force he is finally overwhelmed and captured.

The Scout's report to HQ tells about the discovery of Las Guasimas and the capture of Captain Charlie Scarburg. General William Shafter and his officers meet in his tent to discuss the strategy of their next movement. Before them, stretched out on a large table, is a terrain map displaying the Cuban landscape. After much discussion, General Shafter gives orders to Colonel Leonard Wood to assemble the 1st Volunteers and push into the jungle toward Las Guasimas with the mission to eliminate the Spanish opposition and secure the area.

Hank has been listening to their discussion, but there is no talk of rescuing Charlie. He jumps to his feet, "No, wait. General, we cannot attack Las Guasimas until we free Captain Scarburg. He can be killed in the attempt."

"I'm sorry," said General Shafter, "but we cannot hold up the war for one man."

"I'm sorry too," said Hank, "I'm going in after him. Don't tell me no, don't tell me I have orders. You can court-martial me, reduce me to a private, you can put me in the guardhouse, and later even tie me to a tree and shoot me if you think it necessary, but General I assure you - I am going after my brother! And I'm leaving right now." While he is speaking to General Shafter, Hank is pulling his Colt .44 and gun belt from his pack and strapping it around his waist.

Colonel Leonard Wood said to Hank, "Major Scarburg I'm giving you a direct order, 'You are not to go into the jungle seeking Captain Scarburg,' we cannot afford to lose two good men. Do I make myself clear?"

Colonel Roosevelt held up his hand, "Tsk, tsk, let the man go. You boys don't know Texans. Major Scarburg has handled escapes from Indians dozens of times."

"But Colonel Roosevelt, these are not Indians!"

"Yes they are, General, they simply look different, speak funny, and have a different name. Go, Hank, and good luck, see you and Charlie in a wee bit."

HOSTAGE

The Spaniards move Charlie from the area where he is captured to a small wooden building. They suspend him by ropes on an overhead rafter by his wrists, and one soldier stands in his face hitting him with his fists as he asks in broken English, "You know Americans come? When? How many?" Charlie will not answer and remains stone-faced when questioned. Blood running from his mouth and cuts on his chest is slowly dripping sticky, crimson pools of blood onto the floor.

These Spanish soldiers may have tortured other prisoners, but they have never had to deal with an American Comanche Indian. It is not in an Indian's nature to talk, regardless of the amount or severity of his physical torture.

The Spanish officer in charge tells the soldier to beat Charlie until he talks, then he leaves to go outside to smoke a cigarette. Only one soldier remains with Charlie. He takes out a large knife and says, "Now I get answers. I cut pieces of your skin off until you talk. No? You got something you want to say to Juan? Huh, filthy American pig?"

"Yeah, Juan" answers Charlie, "How about shutting up, I am tired of hearing your gums flap."

"Oh, you smart huh?" He begins to cut Charlie's chest with his knife, "I show you smart American. You mouth do nothing but scream now."

As the Spanish soldier begins to cut flesh, Charlie opens his eyes wide in amazement. The door is slowly opening, and Hank slips in quietly, grabs the soldier around the neck and plunges his Bowie knife deep between his ribs into his pounding heart. The Spanish interrogator crumples to the floor - dead.

As they quickly escape from the building, Charlie notices the Spanish officer lying in a heap next to the front door with blood oozing onto the ground from an ugly cut across his throat. He still grasps his burning cigarette between his dead fingers.

The men and the command's officers are jubilant upon the return of Major Scarburg and Charlie. No one mentions Hank's disobedience to his orders. The war goes on as though nothing has happened.

THE BATTLE

The 1st Volunteers leave the HQ area and prod through the jungle getting close to the Spanish outpost. As night falls, the men have no choice but sleep on the wet ground. They know the next morning they will attack the garrison at Las Guasimas. Sleep comes hard for many for they realize tonight might be their last night on Earth, and for some it is true.

The next morning, before sunup, General Young and the Americans are battle ready to begin the attack. The Americans launch the attack by firing off the Hotchkiss artillery pieces. These Hotchkiss guns fire a projectile over one and one-half inches across. With powder, the percussion shell weighs close to two and one-half pounds. They are the biggest guns the Americans have. These Hotchkiss guns weigh in at close to one hundred sixteen pounds, and are generally pulled by two mules; the men have to position the guns manually, because they have no mules. It is a laborious task for Cavalrymen accustomed to riding horses. Most of the Spanish defenders are holed up in trenches, roadbeds, lying along ridges, and for all practical purposes, concealed in the dense jungle.

The battle begins with Colonel Woods's men. Lieutenant Colonel Roosevelt has to push through the thick jungle on an arduous path, and up a very steep hill. The Cavalry troopers are exhausted and weary from the march and the steep hill climbing. They were trained to go into battle mounted on a horse, not as foot soldiers. Many of the men footsore and exhausted lie concealed in the brush, dropping their packs and falling out of line. When the order to attack is given the 1st Volunteer Regiment goes into action with fewer than half its total strength ready and willing to fight.

Regardless, the Rough Riders, of the understrength 1st Volunteer Regiment move forward, at significant risk, toward the forward outpost along with the regular American troops. Charlie uses his Indian skills to locate where the Spaniards are hiding in the brush and the entrenchments. Using this information the American forces can overcome the Spaniards.

The Battle of Las Guasimas is a tremendous success and the first won victory of the American forces in Cuba. However, the win is not without high costs. The Rough Riders lost 39 killed and wounded. One American died who was not counted among the soldiers. He was a newspaper writer named Edward Marshall. Near the end of the fighting and overcome by the heat of battle, he picked up a rifle and began to fight alongside the 1st Volunteer Brigade. Unfortunately, he was hit by a Spanish bullet and died on the spot.

The road to Santiago is now in full control of the Americans. General Shafter has the 1st Volunteer Brigade remain in position for the next six days as additional supplies are received. During these few days many soldiers die of the fever. Even General Joseph Wheeler is stricken and Colonel Leonard Wood is given command of the 2nd Brigade as a one star Brigadier General. Lieutenant Colonel Theodore Roosevelt has now been promoted to a full bird Colonel in charge of the Rough Riders.

Chapter Twenty-One

SADNESS

"I'm sorry for your loss," an old cowboy shaking Jesse's hand said as they stand in Jericho's front yard.

"Thanks," replies Jesse, "Y'all go in the house and grab a bite to eat. The women folk have the tables full of good food."

Another man and woman step from a buckboard dressed in their Sunday finest and approach Jesse. The man removes his Stetson and quietly said, "Jess, we're sorry for your loss."

His wife carries an item wrapped with a checkerboard cloth. "We brought some fried apple pies, Jesse. Anything we can do for you?"

"Nah, nothing, but thank you, Mrs. Cleland for the pies, that's very thoughtful of you. I think you make the very best fried apple pies around these parts. The ladies are in the kitchen, go right on in," he said pointing toward the house.

All around Jericho's front yard men stand talking, wagons, buckboards, and horses find themselves hitched at every conceivable place. Grizzled, old cowboys with small round tobacco tags hanging from their vest or shirt pockets, cover the front porch. These white tags are attached to a soft, white, muslin sack of Bull Durham tobacco with draw-strings, which these men are using to roll and smoke their cigarettes. They believe the Bull Durham tags hanging from their pockets somehow distinguishes them as "real men."

Others are talking and spitting tobacco juice. This gathering of all Jericho's neighbors is not for a pleasant social event, they have come to offer their condolences to Jesse on the death of William, his father.

Word spread fast throughout the valley when the news broke that old William Scarburg has passed. The Scarburgs were one of the first families to settle in this part of Texas, and the Jericho ranch is known by everyone far and wide. In fact, William's dad, Poppa Scarburg, was the first pioneer to settle in what is now known as the Two River's Valley. Anyone who knows the Scarburgs is here this day to pay their respects.

Jesse greets all the folks as they arrive, but the Texas sun in the latter part of July gets mighty hot. He walks upon the porch to get into the shade, "Fellers," he said, "How's everything going? Y'all's places doin' okay? How's yer cows holding up in this heat?"

HOOF AND MOUTH DISEASE

One of the men standing on the porch answers, "You know Jess, we've just been talking about our spreads. Yer heard of that outbreak of cow fever up north yonder?"

"Naw, can't say I have Hershel, what's it all about?"

Another of Jesse's neighbors joins the conversation, "It's like this Jess, this disease comes from somebody bringing infected cattle from up north in Michigan down Texas way. I don't know where their cows got the fever, but it's destroying whole herds up there I hear."

The man standing next to Jesse adds his two cents, "Jess, we figured since you got the biggest spread and the most cows, and you're head of the Cattlemen's Association you might tell us what to do."

"Hold on, fellers seems like you're gettin' worked up over something that ain't our problem. As you say, Michigan is a long way from Texas."

"No, you're wrong Jess. I hear tell some spreads up in North Texas around the panhandle has already been infected, and they have been killing off their whole herds."

"Say," said Jesse, "what's this disease called anyway?"

"It's got some fancy name, but all I've ever heard is 'Hoof and Mouth' disease. You have to come into contact with the sick animals, or your cows have to eat feed that they have been eatin'."

"Whole herds huh? That sounds bad," said Jesse, "I sure can't afford to lose my herd of whiteface cows and our line of Cavalry ponies."

"Don't have to worry 'bout them horses of you'rn Jess, that disease only hits cows, sheep and goats. Best I heard, they have to be cloven-hoofed animals. Sounds like something outta the Bible, huh, Jess?"

"Yeah sure does. I guess for now we really need to keep an eye on it and do whatever needs doing when the time comes. Speaking of the Bible, a little praying wouldn't hurt either."

As they talk a rider comes up, dismounts ties his horse and walks upon the porch, "Howdy fellers, sorry for breaking in Jess at yer time of mournin', but I've just heard some very alarming news and I knowed most of the valley men would be here payin' their respects."

"That's okay Ben, think nothin' of it, what's the bad news you heard."

"You fellers all heared about this Hoof and Mouth thing, ain't you? Let me tell you, they say there's a spread over in the next county that's got it in their herd. Their cowboys have been killing their cattle for the past four hours I hear."

"Whose spread Ben?"

"I hear tell it's the Elmer Lang place. Got over six hundred head, they are slaughtering them all. Every last one of his whole herd. They took a bulldozer and dug a big hole and are throwing the dead cows in it and covering them up."

Jesse turns to the men on the porch, "Men, have any of you been doing any business with Mr. Lang? Come clean now. We got to know."

One of the ranchers, John Jacobs, standing in the rear speaks up, "Yeah, Jess I jest bought some cows from that spread this week. I've got my herd pinned up ready to drive to Fort Worth to market. I got me a few starter heifers and a bull from Mr. Lang, but y'all can't come kill off my herd, money from the sale of my herd is all my families got to live on this whole next year."

"I understand, not to panic. Let me think for a minute." Jess paces the porch with his hand on his chin, thinking. "Alright here's the plan. First, we need to find out the gestation period for this Hoof and Mouth thing. How long after contact with a sick cow can you see the sickness in your cows? Next, John, we need to go round-up all them cows you got from Mr. Lang and corral them off from your herd. And we need to quarantine your spread, nothing going off of it and nothing coming in until this thing is decided. Finally, we keep a sharp eye on that herd of yours daily and watch for signs of sickness."

"When? When should we start doing this Jess?" One of the men asks.

"Today, right after we bury Pa we're goin' up to John's spread and nip this Hoof and Mouth thing in the bud. Then, we need a detail of men to go to the railhead in Austin and not allow the unloading of any cattle from up north."

"How long you 'speck that'll take. Jess"

"I don't righty know, but most of these disease outbreaks, run themselves out in a couple of weeks or so. I don't believe this one will be any different. We definitely need to hold on for a week or ten days, and we'll get through this. Ever body jest keep a close eye on your stock, we can't afford to let this thing spread. I sure as the devil can't let this disease get into my herd, I've worked too hard to get the whiteface established in Texas. Something like this could set us back for years."

"Speaking of years, Jess, how long you reckon the war will last and when do you think, Hank and Charlie will come home?" One of the ranchers asks.

" I don't rightly know. Both my brothers have been gone for a long time, and I haven't heard a word from 'em. I sent a telegram to the Army telling about Pa, but I don't know whether they got it or not. Don't even know if either of them is still alive."

"Jess don't you suppose the Army would've sent somebody out here to Jericho to tell the family if something happened? Surely they'd sent off a telegram."

"Don't know, Roy, you'd think they would, but I truly don't know."

"What's gonna happen to Jericho? Did your Pa leave a will?"

"Yeah, left it to us three boys, me, Hank and Charlie."

"But, what if they are...are...you know Jess."

"I know what you're sayin', and I spoke with Lawyer Sims out on the porch a while ago. He said since we don't know what's happened to Hank and Charlie, he thinks it best to deed Jericho solely over to me. He said ranch business must go on and since I'm the only one here to make decisions concerning the ranch, then Jericho should be in my name. That's what I'm fixin' to get the lawyer to do I guess. I'm goin' to put Jericho in my name, and my name only since Hank and Charlie are probably dead!"

INDIAN JOE & MARGARITA

It has been a few weeks since Pa Scarburg's funeral. Jesse is over on the back forty tending to a cow giving birth to a calf, just as the calf's head begins to emerge, Jess hears a series of three rifle volleys. He stands and listens. The gunshots seem to have come from the direction of Jericho's main house.

Leaving the mother and calf Jesse mounts his horse and rides at full gallop back to the ranch house. Three rifle gunshots is an alarm and a signal to all that hears that something is out of the ordinary. He is within sight of Jericho's main house when another series of three shots ring out. He can tell the blasts seem to have come from a wagon at the Jericho Gate.

He reins in his pony, pulls a pair of binoculars from his saddlebags and focuses on the strangers coming toward the house. Once he has the eyepieces focused on the wagon he immediately recognizes who they are - it is Indian Joe and Margarita. 'What in the world,' he thinks. The rifle shots were not hostile; they were clearly friendly signals announcing guests are arriving.

Jesse, Indian Joe, and Margarita all arrive at the house at the same time. Jesse jumps from the saddle and hurries over to greet Joe and Margarita at the wagon. "Goodness, of all people," said Jess. "How in the world are you two? And what are you doin' down here in the Heart of Texas?"

"Howdy, Jess, Marg and me left North Dakota six weeks ago coming to offer our condolences on Pa's death, and help you any way we can. As you can see, we didn't quite make it on time. We're sorry about Pa Scarburg Jess. We know how much you'll miss him. We loved that old coot and will miss him terribly also."

"Thanks for that, Joe, oh, forgive me, come on into the house and sit a spell and I'll get you both something cool to drink."

As the three of them sit at the kitchen table, Joe begins to tell his story. "You see, Jess; we got your telegram telling about the death of your Pa. Marg and me decided to come on down and try to give you a little comfort in your time of sorrow."

"Thank you both, that was very kind of you. Why did your trip take so long?"

Joe tells about leaving Mr. Roosevelt's ranch in the hands of their foreman and his wife and how they packed their wagon for the long trip south to Texas. Joe said everything had gone smoothly until one day they came over a hill and they could see the Missouri river spread out in the valley before them.

"Joe, what was so important about ole Mighty Mo?"

"It weren't the river Jess; it was the steamboat that was on it."

"A steamboat? That far north on the river? What was goin' on?"

"Me and Marg tied the mules to a tree and snuck up to the edge of the cliff sos we could see better. That ole steamboat seemed to have run aground on this side of the river. At least, that's what me and Marg thought at first."

"Go on Joe."

"We got to looking and could see the gangplank was hanging over the side resting on the bank of the river. Now ain't no steamboat gonna have its gangplank resting on the shore effen it's stranded. No siree Bob, that boat weren't stuck she was jest unloading something."

"What was it, Joe? What was she unloading?"

"Didn't know at the time Jess, but it was some kind of wooden chests, and them things was quite heavy - it took four big fellers to carry just one of 'em."

"How many did they unload Joe?"

"I reckon there must have been fifteen or twenty of 'em. Me and Marg was too busy watching to keep up with them men comin' and goin'."

"Yeah, then what happened?"

"Jess it had been raining cats and dogs for days, the river was high and that boat had come in at the bottom of a steep cliff. There was just enough room on the shore for them to dig a big pit to put them chests in. They was just about through when there was this awfuless crashing noise you ever heard."

"Crashing noise? What was it, Joe?"

"It was that cliff wheres they was burying them chests. The whole thing just all of a sudden broke loose and fell on them men, them chests and on the steamboat. In just a matter of seconds, everything was gone, nothing was left."

"What did you do then?"

"Me and Marg got back in the wagon and in an hour or two we wuz at that awful place. It weren't nothin' but a big pile of mud and rocks. We found one of the boatmen that had been broke up pretty bad and before he died, he told us what was goin' on. He said they had been hauling supplies up the river and had over five million dollars in gold bars stored in wooden chests. He never said what the gold was fer nor who it belonged to. The captain and the crew had made up their minds to steal the gold, and they was gonna scuttle the steamboat and say it was the flood that done it. Later they was gonna come back and dig up the gold and keep it for themselves. Reckon the Good Lord had different plans."

"Joe, do you and Marg think you can find this place again?"

"Nah Jess, it was rainin' so hard, and the river was in flood stage, me and Marg was jest lucky to get out of there alive. I don't think I could recomember where we was exactly."

"Wow, that sure is a lot of gold to go to waste. Wish you knew where it was."

"It didn't all go to waste Jess, me and Marg got two of them chests in our wagon. Two of them weren't buried. I rigged up a scaffold and used the mules to load 'em onto our wagon. What you think we should do with 'em?"

"Don't rightly know Joe, but for sure, they don't belong to us. Did anybody see y'all down at the river getting them chests onto your wagon?"

"Hold on, now that you mention it, there was this bunch of cowboys up on the ridge watching as we pulled out of there, but they never as much as bothered us in the least bit."

"You reckon they might have followed you?"

"Yeah, me and Marg thought of that too Jess, but I can't be rightly sure. We had to empty everything out of the wagon to make room for the chests. We left that telegram you sent us with the rest of our belongings, I suppose they could have found it. Come to think of it; it did have your address here in Texas on it. That's why me and Marg didn't come straight here to Jericho, we kinda wandered around a bit hopin' to throw them fellers off our trail, effen they were a followin' us."

Jess walked to the back of Joe's wagon and opened one of the chests. "Wow, you're right, Joe. That's got to be a lot of money piled up in these chests. It looks like there are six bars to a row and five rows that is thirty gold bars in this one, I suppose the other is the same. Humm," said Jess rubbing his chin, "we've got to hide these gold bars. Sixty bars of gold at thirty pounds each, gosh, Joe that's nearly eighteen-hundred pounds of gold bullion."

"What's we gonna do, Jess?"

"Pull your wagon down to the barn; I've got an idea."

GOLD RAM'S HORNS

A few hours later the gold bars have been melted down in a big iron wash pot and poured into molds forming four golden ram's horns; each ram's horn weighs in at four hundred fifty pounds. The wooden horns at the Jericho Gate are removed and replaced with the solid twenty-four-carat gold ones. The gold is now painted with two coats of bright white paint. The gold is now hidden - hidden in plain sight.

Chapter Twenty-Two

KETTLE HILL

It is eight miles From Las Guasimas to Santiago, Cuba. Eight miles riding on a horse would not seem too far for a Cavalryman, but to an infantryman loaded down with weapons, ammo, field pack and rations to eat, those eight miles feel like eighty. Regardless of the fatigue and distance Colonel Roosevelt is to march his men to an area called San Juan Heights and maintain their position. They know well over one thousand Spaniards are occupying these Heights.

Colonel Roosevelt has no specific orders once he reaches his objective, but he knows if the 1st Volunteer Regiment is to lead the assault his boys will be greatly outnumbered. As Colonel Roosevelt and the remainder of the Regiment march toward Santiago Colonel Roosevelt, is marching along with his men, on foot. In fact, his horse Texas is carrying one of his wounded Rough Riders!

As they trudge along the muddy road, Hank gallops up to his Commander. "Sir," he said quickly dismounting, "Sir, we just received a runner from HQ with our orders and a couple of pieces of bad news."

"Bloody good! I am dee-lighted, not for the bad news, but finally we have orders. Hank, what is our assignment in this next battle?"

"First, I'm sorry, Colonel, but HQ has decided General Lawton's Infantry Division will lead the advancement against the Spaniards and our Regiment is to serve as a diversion which will allow our artillery with their Hotchkiss cannons to fire at the enemy from afar."

"Bloody, Hell, we are not even to partake in this skirmish?"

"Yes, Sir, we are, but not exactly. The orders state the 1st Volunteer Cavalry Regiment is to join with Lawton's division at mid-battle, Sir."

"Damn! Excuse my language, Hank, but this news is upsetting. They do not seem to see our Regiment as critical to the United States Army in this next engagement."

"Yes, Sir, that does seem like a rational explanation for their decision."

"Hank, I do not like this. Send Charlie ahead and scope out the situation. I need to know what the lay of the land is before we get there. Oh, by the by, what was the second piece of bad news?"

"It was personal to Charlie and me, a telegram informing us our father has died."

Removing his hat, Colonel Roosevelt drops his head, "Indeed, indeed that is sad news. Is there anything I can do for you, Hank, my good fellow?"

"Thank you, Sir, but no, nothing. Let's not tell Charlie until he returns from his recon patrol. I don't want his mind on anything but the mission," however, Hanks mind was on something else.

"Of course, of course," replied Roosevelt.

THE BLACK RAVEN

Hank cannot erase the feeling he has after the meeting with Charlie this very morning. Charlie comes to his tent and tells him he is worried. Charlie said he had awakened and saw a black raven perched on his tent rope looking at him. Charlie is visibly shaken by this event. He remembers back to the plains of South Dakota when Ringo was killed. The Black Raven to the Sioux is a magical bird. It can foretell a person's good or bad fortune; if the bird is silent, it is delivering bad news if the Raven 'caws' good fortune awaits. Charlie did not know how long the bird has been sitting watching him, so he didn't know, for sure, which message his bird is delivering, but he knows from the time he has been watching the crow has been silent. Hank did not want to send him on a mission today. He knows Charlie's superstitious Indian brain will not let him put a one-hundred percent effort into the mission he has to do.

Hank understands Charlie is in a wrong frame of mind, but he must give him the command to recon the area ahead. An hour or so later gunshots come from down the road to the Regiment's front, and Charlie's return is overdue.

"Sir," Hank speaks to Colonel Roosevelt, "may I send out a patrol to check on Charlie and ascertain the source of those rifle shots?"

"Bully good idea. Send the scouts out, Hank."

CHARLIE IS DEAD!

A while later the Scout team returns with Charlie, but he is badly injured. They lay him on a blanket on the ground. He is unconscious with a large, blood-soaked, bandage wrapped around his neck. Hank is the first to meet the team coming up the road and yells, "Regimental Surgeon! Regimental Surgeon! Front and center... Injured man! Injured man!"

The Regimental doctor arrives, kneels down beside Charlie and begins to unwind the bandages the Scout team had applied. Before he removes the final wrap, he sees there is a wound with blood running down Charlie's neck. 'Oh, no,' thinks the Regimental Surgeon. Charlie's jugular vein is severed, 'this wound is fatal.'

"What Doc? How is he?" demands Hank. The doctor looks up at Hank and shakes his head as though saying 'No hope,' but as he removes the last bandage he sees it is not the jugular vein at all, but just a grazed bullet gash that merely needs a proper dressing. While the doctor is performing this procedure, Charlie is beginning to awaken.

"Where am I?" Charlie said trying to turn his head.

"Easy fellow, easy, you need to stay still. You have a wound to your neck. I am Captain Eubanks, the Regimental Surgeon. I'm applying a wound dressing. You are going to be fine. Just rest."

The doc speaks to Hank and Colonel Roosevelt as he stands. He tells them Charlie's wound is nasty, but he should recover. The bullet missed the jugular vein by the narrowest of distance, and merely torn through the adjacent skin causing more blood flow than actual damage. If an infection does not set in he should heal quickly. Hank asks if it would be okay to talk to him.

"Charlie, you gave us such a scare. How do you feel?" Before Charlie could respond, "What did you find out?"

"Thanks for all the concern over my injury, Brother. I told you that blackbird was sending me a warning. You do know I could be dying?"

"No you're not, the doc said so, and I did ask how you feel, now tell us what you found out before I put a hurt on you, you Coe-manch."

Charlie explains that San Juan Hill is just across a narrow valley and a small pond from a place called Kettle Hill. He tells Hank there is a small river at the base of Kettle Hill. If the troops hugged the river bank it could offer some protection to avoid sniper and artillery fire. "Hank, listen...you all must understand...Kettle Hill is the key...it must be taken in order to take San Juan Hill...Kettle Hill is...", Charlie passes out before finishing his thought, but the jest of his report is understood: Kettle Hill must be taken at all costs.

However, Hank does not tell Charlie the bad news from home that their Pa has died. He puts it off thinking he will speak to him later.

KETTLE HILL ATTACK

Two hours later, the 1st Volunteer Cavalry Regiment begins taking fire from the Spanish defenders on Kettle Hill. The American Hotchkiss cannons are firing at the Spaniards, Spanish shells rain down from the top of hill onto the American soldiers huddling along the river bank and in the tall grass forcing the men to move, but now they are pinned down.

Colonel Roosevelt is getting highly annoyed with General Shafter. Roosevelt tells Hank, his Adjutant, "All the General ever wants is more reconnaissance and he is leaving my Regiment sitting in the line of fire. Hank send another runner to Shafter's HQ tell him I request orders to move, we are in an untenable position."

Before Hank can send the runner, orders finally come from HQ telling Roosevelt they want his Regiment to assist the regulars as they begin the assault on the San Juan Heights.

The Colonel mounts Texas and rides up and down the line getting his men on their feet and ready to attack the hill. The Regiment's attack is on the hill to their right, Kettle Hill and San Juan Hill is to their left. Later Roosevelt would say he wanted to fight on foot as his men did; however, he could oversee the battle much better atop his steady mount, Texas. From the back of his horse, he could view his men, and they could see him better.

The assault up the hill is slow. They advance into the teeth of the Spanish rifles. Roosevelt understands quickly they have no hope of advancing to the top without support fire. Riding Texas to Hank's position he voices his concern. Hank knows they have brought three Gatling guns with them, but there is no one proficient in firing them. The gun operators were left in Tampa, but Hank remembers Charlie went to the firing range at Fort Sam to watch the Gatlings operate, and might remember how to fire and operate them.

"Charlie," Hank said after finding 'A' Company, "you think you can fire them Gatling Guns and give us some cover fire?"

"Heck, Hank, you know if a bullet comes out the end of the barrel I can shoot it. Give me a couple of minutes and me and my Scouts will have them ole .30 caliber machine guns a blazing."

"I will go with you, Charlie; I also observed the shooting of those guns at Fort Sam. Together we can figure out how to make them operate."

One of the survivors of the Kettle Hill assault, said, "We was hunkered down with our noses poked into the dirt hoping not to get shot by the Spaniards up on top when all a sudden we hear this rat-a-tat-tat from the bottom of the hill. I heared one man holler, 'Them Spanish have got them a machine gun! Run, run back down the hill!' But the Colonel was riding back and forth in the front lines waving his hat in one hand and his pistol in the other yelling, 'Those are our Gatling Guns, those are ours. Forward men, forward up this hill!' I'll tell you hearing them Gatlings firing give us courage and up we jumped and fit them Spaniards with our guns, our knives and even with our fists, but finally we was the ones standing up on the top."

For the last few hundred steep yards Colonel Roosevelt must walk and fight on foot, his horse Texas has become entangled in barbed wire and cannot advance.

Once Kettle Hill is taken Charlie, his Scouts, and Hank move the three Gatlings to the hill's crest and begin firing across the slight valley into the Spanish entrenched on San Juan Hill. Within minutes the United States Army routs the defenders, and San Juan Hill is ours also. The Americans succeeded in capturing San Juan Heights. The assessment of the after action report found the Gatlings expended over 18,000 rounds of ammunition in less than two hours.

Later, while awarding medals to the men in his command Roosevelt commented: "Had it not been for the superior use of the Gatling Guns by Major Hank Scarburg, Captain Charlie Scarburg and his Scout's, the attack would not have been successful."

A reporter asked, "Colonel how would you describe your performance in the Battle of Kettle Hill?"

"Excellent question, my good fellow, on that fateful day I found myself asking my lads to do what some would say was utterly impossible, that is to say, charge across open ground on an entrenched enemy that was shooting the best repeating rifle available. It became apparent the only way to get my men to move forward was to lead them myself."

Chapter Twenty-Three

VICTORY

Two weeks later on 16 July, Spain surrenders Cuba. The Spanish-American War is over!

At the 1st Volunteer's encampment, Charlie sits with Hank outside Hank's tent. "Hank, do you believe that the war is really over? What happens now?"

"Yes, you ole Coe-manch, it is over, and we are still alive. What's next? Home, Charlie, home, but, Charlie before we get caught up in this joyous feeling to go stateside I need to tell you something."

"Sure, Hank, what is going on?"

"Our family, Charlie, it's about our family."

"Come on, Hank. You are making me nervous."

"This is hard to say, Charlie."

"What's wrong? Is it Jericho? Has something happened to the Ranch?"

"No, not Jericho, it's Pa."

"I knew he was not doing good, has he gotten worse?"

"Charlie, he died!"

"Died? When, Hank, when did Pa die?"

"A while back, Charlie, and I know you want to know why I didn't tell you when I found out. Charlie, we were at war, and you were such a vital member of the 1st Volunteer Regiment. You spend most days out on patrol reconnoitering the enemy. I did not want your mind on anything but the mission - you needed to have your total focus on the job at hand. I was afraid if you were thinking of Pa and home, you might get yourself killed, and I wanted both of us to go home - home to Jericho, Jesse, Joshua, and Trump."

Charlie said nothing; he sat with his head bowed and sniffed as a slow tear rolled down his cheek. He always knew, deep down, Pa and Ma Scarburg were not his birth parents, but to him there were. He had never known another Father or Mother; these two were the only parents he had ever known. Now, he thinks, 'Ma was already gone, now Pa.'

"What are we to do, Hank?" Asks Charlie wiping a tear from his eye.

"Charlie, now that the war has ended me and you are going back to Jericho - we are goin' to raise more Cavalry horses, and Jesse is goin' to keep those whiteface cows of his roaming across the pastures. That's what we're goin' to do."

GOING HOME

In August 1898 Colonel Roosevelt, along with Hank, and the other officers request the 1st Regiment be sent home and disbanded. The United States Army honors their appeal, on 6 August they ship out on the transport Miami to Montauk Point Barracks, Long Island, New York. The ship has scarcely left port when the Captain reports to Colonel Roosevelt that his stokers and engineers are so inebriated they are unable to sail. The Captain believes the Rough Riders brought the alcohol on board the ship. Among the dozens of the 1st Volunteers are some able-bodied seamen that quickly take over the duties of the firemen and ship's engineers.

In the meantime, Colonel Roosevelt proclaims to all the remaining soldiers under his command that all alcohol on board must be turned in for his safekeeping. The Colonel tells the men he will keep it for them and give it back upon reaching their final destination. He further states if he searches the ship after the call for voluntary turn-in of the alcohol and finds any spirits they will be tossed overboard. About seventy flasks are turned over, and he finds another twenty or so hidden among the personal effects of the other troops.

The Miami is grossly overcrowded, and the water supply is terrible. The provisions, which consists mostly of canned beef is un-eatable, but the Colonel knew this would be the case. Also, the vegetable supply is insufficient to feed the men. They have no disinfectants and no hospital for the sick. The sick men have to be placed in an isolated portion on deck. Colonel Roosevelt is constantly aware that a small-pox epidemic could break out on board and the results will be disastrous, but fortunately, this does not happen. By diligent sanitary precautions, they prevent any critical illnesses.

BURIAL AT SEA

One man, who is gravely sick, dies during their journey and is given a burial at sea. The dead soldier is wrapped in a length of canvas, secured snuggly, placed on a wooden board and draped with the American flag. The ship's engine is idled, and the large transport rocks on the waves, while the war-weary 1st Volunteer Cavalry troopers gang around with hats in hand, to listen to the Chaplin. Hank and Charlie are standing next to the back ranks and can barely hear what the Chaplin is saying over the noise of the wind whistling through the rigging. They hear a portion of Revelations 20:13 - The sea gave up the dead that were in it, and death and Hades gave up the dead that were in them, and each person was judged according to what they had done. The flag over the body is slowly withdrawn, and the body lifted at one end slides silently into the murky water to join with the thousands of other sailors that have suffered this same fate many, many times before. Hank thought, 'when he opens his eyes again the next sight will be the face of Jesus.'

After the burial ceremony, the captain sets his compass point north into the Gulf Stream to head toward New York. However, it is August, and this part of the Atlantic is well known for its hurricanes. Hurricane season is from June to November and mid-August is nearing the peak of this activity.

THE HURRICANE SIGHTED

August 1898, is not to be any different. They are four days out of the port of Santiago, and the ship is slowly gaining speed when Charlie speaks to Hank, "Hank, I do not know anything about the weather and such, but have you noticed those dark, black clouds off to our right. That would be the east is it not?"

Turing to look, Hank answered, "Darn if you're not right, Charlie, yeah, that's east, looks like a pretty good storm brewing. I hope it isn't one of those hurricanes heading this way."

"Hurricane? Hank, what is one of those?"

"I don't know for sure, Charlie, I suppose they are like one of those twisters out in Texas, but with a lot more rain, wind and lightning. I've heard tell some of them can get pretty nasty, though maybe this one will miss us."

Hank and Charlie find them a place to sit down on the deck and both drift off to sleep. A couple of hours later Charlie awakens and nudges Hank, "Hank! Hank!"

"What, Charlie? I'm trying to get a little shut-eye, what do you want?" Hank grunts.

"Hank, look off to the east again, them black clouds are getting darker, and they seem to be getting a lot closer too. What do you think?"

Hank, walks to the railing and surveys the darkening sky. A few hours ago the storm was just a spot on the eastern horizon now the boiling, black mass extends from the far north to the far south covering the entire eastern edge of their vantage point of the horizon.

"Stay put, Charlie. I've got to warn Colonel Roosevelt. This storm looks like trouble coming."

THE HURRICANE HITS

Pounding on the Colonel's cabin door, Hank yells, "Colonel Roosevelt, Sir; it is Major Scarburg. Sorry to bother you, Sir, but I believe there is something up on deck that you need to see personally."

Roosevelt opens the door putting on his spectacles, "Humm, what in tarnation are you hollering about, Hank? What is so gall-durn important to interrupt my afternoon siesta?"

"Sir, if I might, would you please follow me topside and let me show you a development to our east."

Standing on the deck, Roosevelt removes his hat and wipes his brow with his handkerchief. "Darn, if you're not right, Hank. It looks like a big blow is coming. Get the men busy tying down the equipment on deck, take any object below deck that might become a deadly projectile. Tell the men no one is to be on deck once the storm hits and anyone that has duty is to be securely lashed by a sturdy rope. We surely do not want to lose someone on the way home, especially since they just survived a war."

Colonel Roosevelt is standing on the bridge speaking to the ship's captain, "Captain, what are your instructions? Unmistakably, you are more attuned to matters of the sea, especially to the nature of hurricanes. I yield my command to your orders, Sir. What would you have me and my men do?"

"Colonel," said the ship's Captain. "Right now get all your personnel below deck, stow all your gear, take care of your horses, and get as many buckets and towels that you can find..."

"Sir, buckets and towels?" Colonel Roosevelt said interrupting.

"Colonel Roosevelt," replied the Captain, "when this monster hits if you ain't never seen a cork bobbing on the sea. That's what we'll be. Just a small cork on a large, gnarling mass of water. Another thing - you ain't never seen men as sick as they are gonna be, that's what the buckets and towels are for."

"Jolly good, understood."

"When the blow starts I'll turn the ole Miami into the teeth of the wind and let the bow cut through the towering waves that will be striking us. Hopefully, she'll survive, but I must warn you, Colonel, many a good ship hasn't before. Keep yer men below deck and tell 'em to hang on and stay out of the way of my sailors. My men are gonna have their hands full."

The first sign of the approaching hurricane is the ocean swells become deeper and deeper. Charlie stands at a porthole looking out, "Hey, Hank I just saw a fish jump out of the water and land on deck. What kind do you suppose it is?"

Hank evidently annoyed, "I guess it's a flying fish Charlie, who cares what kind it is?"

"Just wondering," said Charlie softly.

The ole Miami is taking the hurricane head-on and holding her own. As the bow crests a massive wave, the stern and the propellers lift out of the water. The spinning props shake the ship violently, and the noise they make is deafening and terribly frightening to those soldiers who have never experienced anything like this before.

Each time the ship tops a huge wave Charlie draws up as though he is about to be shot, then as the Miami drops down into the next trough between the waves he relaxes. "For goodness sakes, Charlie, if this hurricane doesn't kill us then you're going to die from a heart attack. Lighten up a bit.

"You are not scared, Hank?"

"Yeah, but there ain't nothing I can do about it. If we sink, we sink. There's no use for me and you to sit here worrying about something that we have no control over. If there is anything you or I could do, maybe then I would agonize over it, but quit dwelling on the hurricane and think about Jericho and how much we are gonna enjoy gettin' back home."

No sooner than Hank tries to calm Charlie, they hear a tremendous crashing noise with the splintering of wood. Men can be heard yelling, with the sound of incoming water rushing in. Hank looks down and can see water rising almost to his bootlaces. Were they sinking? Charlie shouts, "We are sinking, Hank, we are sinking!" Charlie begins praying, "Our Father which art in Heaven..."

"Hang tight, Charlie I'll go forward and see about all the commotion. Shut the door and remain on your bunk, we are going to come through this storm. Take my word for it."

Charlie crawls back on his bed and watches as the sea water continues to flow under the door and into his small cabin. Enlisted men are supposed to sleep on deck, but Hank has his own room being a major and the Regimental Adjutant, so the Colonel has approved Charlie bunking with his brother. Right now Charlie is beginning to think that this might not have been such a good idea. The water continues to get deeper and deeper, and Charlie cannot think of Jericho, all his thoughts are on drowning as the ship is going down.

Up forward Hank comes to the cause of the excitement - one of the Hotchkiss cannons has broken loose from its moorings and slid across the deck and crashed through the upper deck into the cabin inside. Fortunately, the men occupying the cabin have other duties, and no one is in the area when the cannon came flying through the wooden wall. Hank yells at the men watching to grab hammers, nails and cut loose their tenting on deck. The men use the tenting canvas to nail over the hole stopping the hurricane's ferocious winds from driving in more water. In a few minutes, the disaster is avoided, and the water rushing into the ship abates. All on board are safe, with the exception the hurricane is still at full fury.

The pitching and rolling of the ship continue for the rest of the day and into the next. Around midnight of the second night, the sea begins to settle down, and the clouds start to break up. Hank and Charlie go up on deck after checking on Black Magic and Lil Sue and watch the lightning in the huge billowing clouds off to the west. Overhead the stars are as bright and so numerous the two brothers think just for a moment they are back on the prairie in Texas. They watch as the trailing edge of the hurricane hurries on toward the eastern coastline of the United States.

An inventory of the storm's damage shows the Miami is a pretty seaworthy vessel, the losses are small, but include one of the Regiment's Hotchkiss artillery pieces which is lost. It weighed one hundred sixteen pounds, but in this hurricane, that weight was no more than a toothpick. Over the side, the first cannon went, along with two cases of Cuban rum that Colonel Roosevelt had packed for his own personal enjoyment once he returned home. A couple of cases of Krag carbine rifles with twelve rifles in each box and one of the Gatling guns and most of the tenting also went overboard. The second Hotchkiss that came loose from its mounting was the one that crashed through the upper deck into the forward cabin. For a hurricane, the Captain of the Miami said this is an acceptable loss, at least no sailors or soldiers were gravely injured or killed.

Activities on board for the men are non-existent. In the long nine days sailing from Santiago to Long Island, New York they mostly enjoy the fair weather, and the men entertain themselves by playing games of chance, such as shooting dice or playing cards. The Colonel turns a blind eye to it as long as the men remain civil and cause no disturbances. Most of the time the men sit around and talk. Each man contributes from his own experiences. Hank and Charlie speak of Texas and the ranch work on Jericho. Others tell of voyages around Cape Horn while working on freighters. Later Colonel Roosevelt will write about overhearing stories of yacht races for the America's cup. He listens to their experiences on ball teams in college, or serious feats of heroism and courage fighting the Indians out west. He hears about catching cutthroat gangs of merciless outlaws; adventures in their ability to track buffalo and antelope, in breaking wild mustangs, in driving great herds of cattle to market, and in wandering winter and summer among the creeks and rivers of the west trapping beaver and other furry critters. The men who told the wild stories drew upon countless memories of such things they had done and the things they had seen others do. Sometimes General Joseph 'Fighting Joe' Wheeler would join in and tell the men about the great Civil War battles that he had been a part of so many years ago.

BACK IN THE STATES

On the 14th of August, the Miami steams up Long Island Sound and docks at Montauk Point. The four companies that had been left in Tampa have already arrived and met the jubilant 1st Volunteer Cavalry Regiment as they come ashore.

The whole Regiment is in quarantine until the Army is sure none of the men have yellow fever.

Malaria, which the men call 'Cuba fever' is odd - many days the affected seem fine, and on others, they appear at 'Death's Door.' A few had died in Cuba, but many are on board Miami in somewhat of makeshift quarantine conditions. The sad part of contracting malaria is there is no cure. If they live, they will have to deal with it the rest of their lives, and many of them will succumb to it later. Aside from malaria, there are cases of yellow fever, dysentery, and other illnesses. Many of the men suffer from general exhaustion and are in poor condition upon returning home. Most of them are undernourished and look like skeletons. Upon arrival, they all receive an abundant supply of meat and fresh vegetables, and most are soon nourished back to their normal health.

Everyone is to be mustered out and released from active duty. Roosevelt will return to civilian life preferring to be known as 'Colonel Roosevelt' or simply 'The Colonel.' The newspaper picks up the name 'Teddy,' but Roosevelt hates this name, even though it remains most popular with the public. Most of the people who work with Roosevelt merely call him 'Colonel' or 'Theodore.'

Colonel Roosevelt is nominated for the Medal of Honor for his actions on Kettle Hill, but officials annoyed at 'Teddy' grabbing all the headlines after the war, block it's approval. He will not be awarded the Nation's highest award until many years later.

Today, in the middle of August, is a fine autumn day on the eastern tip of Long Island. This day will mark the finish of the ceremony disbanding the 1st Volunteer Cavalry Regiment. All equipment, firearms, and horses, except Black Magic and Lil Sue, will be turned back over to the United States government.

It is truly a Cavalry Regiment this day. Each trooper stands at attention next to his horse as Colonel Roosevelt says goodbye to his men. He speaks in earnest of the exploits of his men, their heroic achievements and the deep respect he has for each and every one of them. This day he does not speak of himself or his part in the triumphs in Cuba, this dee-lightful fall day, as Roosevelt likes to say, is a celebration for the Regiment or 'his boys' as he fondly calls them.

DEACTIVATION

Since this day the Regiment is being deactivated the 'Casing of the Colors' ceremony will be held to commemorate the Unit and its brief history. A history, although short, has been very memorial. The journey to war began in San Antonio, Texas and ended in Long Island, New York. The official casualty list reflects that the Army lost 281 killed with 577 wounded, Charlie is one of these gallant, wounded soldiers. During the closing ceremony, Colonel Roosevelt pins a Purple Heart to Charlie's chest. 'If only Pa could see me now,' thinks Charlie. 'He would be so proud,' sticking out his chest so all can see his medal with its purple ribbon and George Washington's profile.

The Colors are the unique flags carried by the color guards to represent a military Army Command, Brigade or Regiment. After the reading of the unit's history, the command's Sergeant Major Thomas presents the deactivation order to Colonel Roosevelt. Colonel Roosevelt and Sergeant Major Thomas lowers and furls the colors into a protective sheath thereby 'casing' the colors. The cased colors will then be sent to the United States Army Center of Military History in Washington, D.C.

At the end of the deactivation ceremony, Colonel Roosevelt is presented with three mascots, a mountain lion from Arizona, a war eagle from New Mexico and a puppy named Cuba. The men also present their Colonel with a bronze statue of Remington's 'Bronco Buster.' Roosevelt looks upon it with pride and personally shakes the hand of each soldier under his command.

At the conclusion of the day's events, he calls Hank and Charlie aside to congratulate them and personally say goodbye. "Hank, Charlie," he said, "what are your intentions now that the war is over, and you both have done your part? Going home to your Jericho Ranch I suppose, my good friends."

"Yes, Sir, I suppose Charlie and I will be returning to Texas and continue in the ranching business. Jesse will need help now that Pa is gone."

"Hank before you leave you and me need to have a private conversation," the Colonel said.

A few days after the deactivation and mustering out ceremony Hank and Charlie are packing up their gear getting ready for the return to Jericho. Texas is a long way from Long Island, New York, but they plan on boarding the outgoing train to New York City, and from there transfer to another train heading to the Lone Star State.

Hank, packing his bedroll hears a knock at his door. Opening the door he sees a corporal standing at attention, "Sir, Colonel Roosevelt requests your presence at 5th Corp Headquarters."

"Requests?" replies Hank. "This is not an Order?"

"No, Sir, you are a civilian and the Colonel is making a polite request for your attendance, there is no Order that you must attend."

"Fine, Corporal, lead the way."

Arriving at Headquarters Hank is led down a long hallway to a door with a placard which reads:

Commanding Officer

Colonel Theodore Roosevelt

1st Volunteer Cavalry Regiment

Inside Hank finds the Colonel sitting at his desk, dressed in civilian clothes, scribbling on a sheet of paper. He looks up. "Take a chair, Hank. I have something to ask you."

"Sir, Major Scarburg reporting to the Commanding Officer as requested, Sir," Hank said saluting.

"No need for the military formalities Hank, you and I are no longer in the Army, just two old friends sitting down to talk." Regardless, Colonel Roosevelt returns the salute as a courtesy.

Puzzled Hank sits down in one of the red, Corinthian leather chairs in front of Roosevelt's desk. "Sir, Yes Sir," said Hank, "you say there is something you want to ask me? What could I possibly know that would be of interest to you, Colonel?"

"Hank, I have been approached to run for Governor of New York. Those that know these things believe, with my experience and now my illustrious war record I am a shoo-in for the Governorship."

"Yes Colonel, I can see why they would think that. You will make a great Governor."

"That be as it may, I think I need a good right-hand man at my side. I think you, Hank should be that man. I want you as my assistant during the campaign and as my Chief of Staff if I am elected the Governor of New York."

"Colonel," Hank replies searching for words, "I...I...am flattered, but I know nothing about politics and was never one to be interested in it. I would be more of a hindrance than help I can assure you."

"You did not know how to be a Company Commander or an Adjutant either did you? But you did a great job for me in Cuba, and I believe you will do the same for me in Albany. What do you say?"

"Sir, I don't know what to say. Your offer of a job is such a surprise," Hank said, "I need to go back to Jericho and see if Jesse and the ranch are in good shape, and if, and when, you decide to run for Governor of New York, contact me again, and I will give you my answer then."

"Fair enough, Hank. Good luck until we meet again."

Chapter Twenty-Four

BANDIDOS ARRIVE

Jesse and Indian Joe are working at the barn unhitching the horses from the hay baler. Both have just left the hay field where they have finished baling the last of the hay, cut a few days ago, into square bales of feed for the use of the cattle and horses over the coming winter months.

"Thanks, Joe, I sure appreciate you and Marg staying here and helping me get the last of the hay crop into the barn. Y'all have been such a big help around here since Pa's passing. I just wanted to let you know I thank you both."

Before Indian Joe could respond, he notices dust down by the Jericho Gate. "Jesse, look down at the Jericho Gate, seems like visitors are a-comin'."

"Yeah, looks to be about four or five riders, but I don't recognize any of 'em."

Jesse is correct; four men gallop up as they continue removing the horse's harness and leading them away from the hay baler. "Howdy," Jesse said greeting the men. "What can we do for you?"

"We're from up north and have been trailing that wagon over there." The man abrasively said pointing, "the green one with the yeller spokes and the canvas cover." This apparent leader further demands, "Where's the feller that owns that wagon?"

"He's standing right here talking to you," replies Jesse. "Hold on partner, who do you think you are comin' onto my ranch demanding to know anything about my equipment, especially an ole wagon. What business is it of yours anyway?"

"The driver of that wagon was involved in the deaths of dozens of men up on ole Mo; then he runs off not even stopping to aid those helpless men."

Jesse is standing in the doorway of the barn, "Run off? Did he now? Interesting, that's not the way I heard it. I believe there's more to this story than you're telling."

The leader pulls his Colt .44 from its holster and points its business end at Jesse. "'Nuff talkin' tell me what I'm askin', or I'm fixin' to give you another breathing hole."

Neither Jesse nor Joe are armed, but unknown to the 'visitor' with the big shooting iron in his hand, leaning up against the wall, just inside the doorway of the barn, is Jesse's Winchester rifle, loaded and ready to fire. Knowing the rifle is close at hand Jesse asks, "Why are you fellers so interested in this wagon, are y'all lawmen seeking justice? Or could there be another reason for your interest?"

"Seeing I've got the drop on you there's no reason not to tell you what we're after. That wagon is loaded with two chests full of gold bars, and we want 'em. We watched the driver load them onto that wagon and drove it down here."

"Mister, you are right on one fact, look in the back of that wagon, and you will find two wooden chests alright, but they are empty. There ain't no gold bars in them. Go ahead look for yourself."

Motioning for one of his men to take a peek. The desperado with the gun waits as his comrade eyeballs the inside of the chests and shakes his head. "You buried that gold somewhere on this ranch! Show me where it is, and we'll let you live."

"Feller, If those chests once held gold bars I can assure you they are not buried anywhere on my property."

"You're lying! Tell me the truth or I'm fixin' to shoot your Injun friend here," he said aiming his six-shooter at Joe.

"Partner, I beg you not to shoot Joe, he will also verify to you there is no gold buried on Jericho. Y'all have my permission," Jesse suggests, "to look all you want too; there is no gold buried here. I'll even go further and say if you find gold buried on my property you have my permission to shoot Joe."

"Hey, wait a minute," said Joe, "let's not get too hasty here."

Grinning, "Ah, Joe you know they ain't gonna find no gold buried on Jericho, so you're not gonna get shot."

"Yeah...yeah...right Jesse," Joe said hesitantly. Looking at the man aiming his gun at him, "Go ahead, look all you want to, you'll not gonna find no gold buried on this ranch."

Before the man with the .44 can turn back around from threatening Joe Jesse grabs the Winchester from behind the barn wall and without aiming pulls the trigger knocking the leader from his horse with one shot. He cocks his rifle and trains it on the remaining three outlaws before they can un-holster their firearms.

"Joe, grab a length of that plow line and let's tie these other cahoots up, and I'll escort them into town and let them tell their sad tale to the sheriff." The three men are bound tightly and secured with their arms behind their backs, "Joe, grab this dead one's feet, and I'll grab his arms. We'll throw him over his saddle, and I'll carry this gunslinger with me. Let the sheriff deal with them, looks like Boothill is waiting for this one tho'."

The six of them walk their horses down the road toward the Jericho Gate without speaking. As they get to the gate Jesse looks up at the ram's horns and speaks to one of the gunmen, "You guys could have saved yourselves a lot of trouble if you had just believed me when I said there aren't any gold bars buried on the Jericho ranch. And one of you would still be among the living."

Grinning, Jesse turns toward Indian Joe and winks, "Ain't that right Joe. No gold buried on our land?"

Looking up at the Jericho Gate, "Right, you are, Jess. Ain't no gold buried here."

Chapter Twenty-Five

GOING HOME

'ALL ABOARD,' 'ALL ABOARD,' the voice said over the megaphone as the announcer walks among the travelers waiting to climb aboard the Long Island Rail Road. Hank and Charlie, now in civilian clothes, but wearing their tan britches are leaving Montauk, Long Island. They have their discharge papers tucked safely away in their pockets; they are officially mustered out of active military service. Home! They are heading to Jericho, Texas.

"Hank, where are we heading now?"

"Charlie, this railroad is gonna take us into New York City to the Grand Central Station on East 42nd Street and 5th Avenue. Charlie, Grand Central is the biggest railroad station in the whole world."

"Hank, you mean to say it is the biggest in the United States?"

"Nah, Charlie the biggest in the world \- the whole world, just think about that for a minute."

"Hank, what about Black Magic and Lil Sue, how are they going to get back to Jericho?"

"Colonel Roosevelt already made provisions for my beautiful Black Magic and your gorgeous pinto Lil Sue. They will be well taken care of, the Colonel has 'em leaving Long Island by train, and their feet will hardly hit the dirt again until they are unloaded deep in the heart of Texas. Don't worry we will pick 'em up at the rail station in San Antone in a few days."

The Long Island Rail Road passenger train pulls into Grand Central on track number twenty-four at the upper-level. Local commutes and passenger trains use the upper-level tracks from near-by towns, such as, East Orange and Newark, New Jersey, Staten Island, Brooklyn, Long Island, etc. The Station reserves the lower level tracks for long-distance travel to places like Albany, Syracuse and Buffalo, New York and points west including Chicago, Illinois where connections can be made to towns and stations farther west and south.

Checking the "In and Out" schedule board, Hank sees that the outgoing train, the Commodore Vanderbilt, is leaving from the lower level on track nineteen, but its departure is not until 4 p.m., another two hours. Two hours give Hank and Charlie plenty of time to explore all the crooks and crannies of Grand Central.

From platform twenty-four they begin to wander into the Main Concourse, but before they can pass through the first arched column people in Grand Central uniforms start screaming and running toward the train tracks. Grabbing one of the uniformed attendants Hank asks him to explain all the commotion? Not stopping the man shouts 'Trainwreck, trainwreck!' and continues running.

Hank and Charlie turn and follow the crowd that is hurrying back to the tracks at platform twenty-four. As they mingle with the passengers and a large group of Grand Central employees, word spreads that a suburban express train from White Plains, New York has plowed into the rear of a waiting commuter train at the beginning of the underground tunnel. Off in the distance, Hank can hear horns, whistles and so many people yelling it is impossible to understand what they are saying. In a few minutes word arrives to those gathered on the platform; it appears at least fifteen passengers have been killed and many more injured in the wreck.

Local papers will report most of the death, injury, and damage has been wrought by the engine of the White Plains train, which crashed through to the middle of the first car, shattering the seats and furnishings and demolishing the sides as it moved forward.

The victims are mangled in the mass of wreckage, crushed in the space between the boiler and the car's side, or scalded by steam which came from broken pipes and steel cylinders of the boiler.

This crash would later become the leading evidence to deem converting the Grand Central Station from the use of steam locomotives to train engines driven by electricity. Politicians and reformers quickly enacted plans to restrict steam locomotives from operating within the city limits of New York City.

By the time all this activity calmed down, and the trains begin to return to somewhat of a regular schedule Hank looks at the giant four-sided clock with the opal faces that hangs in the center of the Main Terminal. It indicates the time is 3:50, ten minutes before he and Charlie have to depart on the Commodore Vanderbilt on lower level track nineteen. Two hours have gone by quickly.

'Horsefeathers,' thinks Hank, 'this is going to be tight.' Hank grabs Charlie by his arm and pulls him toward the ramp leading down to the lower level. It will take at least ten minutes to go from track twenty-four on the upper level to track nineteen on the lower level. They are going to miss their train to Chicago. Rushing as fast as humanly possible they arrive on the departing platform barely in time, but it is one minute after four, the train should have already departed. Once inside Hank looks at his Poppa Scarburg's gold pocket watch - it is straight up 4 o'clock. How can this be? His Poppa's watch is never wrong?

The conductor comes down the aisle asking for their tickets. "Is the train on time?" Hank inquires.

"Of course, Sir," said the old Negro conductor, "in alls my thirty-three years working this here line, this train has never been late, not one minute I tell you. No siree, Sir, you can set your watch by this here Commodore Vanderbilt. She be as reliable as they's come."

As Hank hands his and Charlie's two train tickets to the conductor Hank comments, "I checked my watch with that gorgeous big clock hanging in the main concourse, but for some reason, it seems to be wrong. I believe it is a minute off."

The conductor chuckles, "I sees you done caught us."

"Caught you? What do you mean?"

"That clock has four faces, each made from opal in Waterbury, Connecticut it is priceless."

"If it is priceless you'd think it could at least keep the correct time."

"Oh," replied the conductor, "it does keeps perfect time. You sees, we set the clock, as we do all the others in Grand Central Station, one minute fast on a purpose. The clock helps people from being late for their trains and prevents passengers falling over each other running for trains that are about to pull out of the station."

Settlings into their seats Hank turns toward Charlie, "At least I don't have to have Poppa's watch checked. Can you believe that they set their clocks one minute off on purpose." Hank said grinning.

"Hank, enough about the silly clocks tell me about this train. Where are we going and when are we going to get there?"

Chuckling, "You'll never change, will you, Charlie?"

"I am just wondering, Hank."

"Alright, Charlie - we're headed to Chicago."

Chapter Twenty-Six

MORE BANDIDOS ARRIVE

"Hey, Marg, is dinner about ready? I'm starvin'." Indian Joe said slamming the front screen door. "I've been up before the rooster this morning, and them fences over on the lower section ain't been fixin' themselves."

Margarita walking from the kitchen dries her hands on her apron, "So, (speaking in her Spanish accent), you thinks you're the onlyest one around this here ranch working, does you? If dat is right, you get in this here kitchen and rustle up your own grub you...you...bueno para nada." Marg laughs as she tosses a dishrag at her husband. "Say, Joe, by the way how longs does you reckon it will take Jesse to get hisself back from that Sheriff's office?"

"Don't really know Marg, but when I left him at the Jericho Gate, he didn't say anything about the trip to town taking much time. He'll take those three Bandidos and the dead one into town, turn them over to the Sheriff, and I guess he will hightail it back to Jericho. I expect him before supper tho'. Now, what about my grub?"

Joe moves toward the kitchen when suddenly Trumpet III begins barking. Trump III is the grandson of Trumpet, Poppa Scarburg's German shepherd he brought with him from Alabama. Everyone has always called all of them, father, son, and grandson, Trump. Trump the 1st lived a good, long life, but as nature does with all living things, he got old, but his son Trump II carried on in his place. Now it is his son Trump III's job to keep a watchful eye out for Jericho.

The tone of Trump's bark tells Joe something's up. Trump has many different barks, one when he's chasing a chicken in the yard, another when a squirrel crosses the grass and up a tree and the worse - someone or something harmful is within Trump's watchful territory. Today his bark is the latter - someone threatening is coming.

UNWANTED VISITORS

Joe looks out the front window and sees riders coming through the Jericho Gate headed toward the main house. They are too far away to recognize distinctly, but he can see enough to tell he does not know who they are.

"Marg!" He yells, "grab the shotgun and stay here by the front door. I don't know who these riders are, but I don't like their looks. Something tells me these fellers are up to no good."

Joe pushes open the screen door and steps out onto the sandstone that makes up the floor of the front porch. He leans his Winchester against the wall beside the door; he carries no sidearm. His boots click against the rock as he walks to the front steps to greet this group of riders.

The men ride up to the hitching posts in the yard, but they do not dismount. Joe, standing in the shade of the porch watches but does not speak. One of the men walks his beautiful Palomino horse up to the steps of the porch. He appears to be Mexican. He is wearing a gilded jacket with silver buttons, fancy, ornate black pants with knee-high black boots. All with an abundance of botonería, or silver buttons and accessories. Over his shoulder was a colorful serape. On his head, he wears a large black sombrero with a silver studded band, which provides him plenty of shade and protects him from the hot sun. A couple of the pistoleros have two crossed shoulder belts joined with a single buckle at the center of the chest. Both belts are fully loaded with extra cartridges for their guns.

Peering from underneath his sombrero the leader gruffly speaks to Joe in a heavy, broken Mexican accent, "Señor, we come a long way and...what you say...are sore in the saddle...no...no...your word...saddlesore. So don't waste our time. We want answer to our question."

Joe looks at the Mexican pistoleros "Sir, I can see by the dust covering your clothes you have been on the trail for many days. Please, the water trough is over there for your animals," Joe said pointing, "gentlemen get down from your horses, let them have water, and I will get you some cool water to drink before you ask your question.

WATER TO DRINK

I would think you all need to refresh yourselves first." Turning to the door, "Marg, ándale, get these gentlemen some cool water to drink, they have been on the dusty road for some time."

Unseen from inside the house Margarita sits the shotgun down and gets a bucket of fresh well water from the hand pump at the kitchen sink before returning to the porch. Margarita is a beautiful, dark-haired, Mexican woman, and from the moment she steps on the porch the pistoleros began whistling and calling her names, "Mamma mia! Que curvas!" one said, another "Mujer hermosa", as they begin to dismount.

"What is it you want?" Asks Joe of the leader. "Ask what you want and be on your way." He knows the situation is about to get out of hand with these young pistoleros and Margarita.

"Our compadres came this way earlier. Have you seen them? Where are they? We wish them to find."

Joe realizes this group of Bandidos are friends of the ones Hank is taking to the Sheriff, not to mention the one Hank killed. "Oh, yeah, they were here, three or four of 'em. They came through this morning, watered their horses, and were on their way. Haven't seen them since."

"You're lying! They came here with a purpose - gold!"

"Gold! Why would they come here looking for gold? As you can see we're a working cattle ranch, not a gold mine." Speaking these words, Joe slowly begins to inch his way back toward his Winchester rifle.

Two of the Cowboys are now stepping across the porch toward Margarita who has set the water bucket and dipper on the porch. The biggest of the two grabs her by the arm jerking her toward him trying to steal a kiss.

Joe reaches for his rifle yelling, "Unhand my wife you Mexican piece of trash..."

Before he could retrieve his Winchester, the talkative vaquero quickly slaps his pistol from its holster and fires. The lead bullet strikes Joe in the chest. He crumbles in a heap; blood begins to run across the sandstone. Margarita jerks away from the threatening hand holding her arm, "Joe! Joe!" She screams running to his body. The gunman, with the pistol still in his hand, fires another bullet killing Margarita as she reaches toward her dead husband. Trump is on the porch barking, and biting at the legs of the two intruders, the gunman fires another shot hitting Jericho's dog. Trump's barking stops, and he collapses without a whimper at Joe's feet.

The gunfire accompanied by the scuffling noise brings four of the cowhands at the barn running toward the house. The pistoleros sitting on their horses shoulder their rifles and shoot three of the four cowboys as they run to help. The fourth, Pedro, is taken as a hostage.

Speaking to the two Mexicans on the porch, "Ándele, you two, mount up, there's nothing more we do here." The band of outlaws rein their horses around, putting the spurs to their flanks, they gallop out the Jericho Gate. Little did they realize they were riding right beneath the four solid gold ram's horns that they have just murdered five people trying to find. Passing the gate they turn south toward Mexico, with Pedro, his hands lashed together riding with them.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

DESTINATION ST. LOOIE

Hank and Charlie board the St. Louis and Santa Fe railroad destined from Chicago to St. Louis. "Hank," asks Charlie, "how many more trains are we going to get on before getting home to Jericho? And how far is it to St. Looie?"

"Don't know for sure, Charlie, but I know at least two more - we will have to change trains in St. Looie and take the train south to Dallas. At Dallas, we will switch to another one heading on further south to San Antone. I don't believe there is any more than these two."

"Thank the good Lord. I do believe I could have ridden Lil Sue quicker than this train is going."

"Now, now, Charlie. Look on the bright side."

"Bright side? Bright side, what in the world are you talking about, Hank Scarburg. Bright side? There is not a bright side to this train riding."

"Think of your butt, it's been sitting here on these nice, soft cushions and you with your boots propped up. Drinking cool drinks and eatin' pecan pie from the dining car, and just sitting here by these huge glass windows watching the countryside glide by - what could be nicer. Oh yeah, you could have been on Lil Sue, sucking in trail dust, eating hardtack and bacon as you park your backside on a big flat rock by a campfire after experiencing, all day, an uncomfortable seat on a hard, leather saddle. Now, do you see the bright side?"

Thinking for a moment, Charlie replied, "Yeah, Hank, I do see what you mean. You suppose they still have some of that pee-can pie left in that eating car up yonder?"

"Don't you ever get full? Yeah, they probably have plenty of pecan pie in the dining car. As to the question how far to St. Looie, I'm guessing it's going to be another six or seven hours."

The train has been traveling out of Chicago for a couple of hours. It is somewhere in the sparsely populated, open countryside between the shores of Lake Michigan and Bloomington, Illinois.

"Hank," asks Charlie.

Hank who is leaning against the window with his hat over his eyes trying to grab a few winks agitated said, "Huh? What do you want, Charlie?"

"Hank, it seems like the train is slowing down. You sure we are not supposed to stop before we get to St. Looie?"

Hank slides his hat back and gazes out the window. What he sees is disturbing. Three or four men on horseback with six-shooters in their hands running alongside the moving train, and Charlie is correct; the train is slowing its pace.

The rear door to their passenger car crashes open. In comes two men brandishing Colt pistols, their faces hidden by bandannas. "This is a holdup," said the first man. Their dress gives Hank the impression they are down and out cowboys. Dirty, ten-gallon hats, threadbare, non-descript shirts covered by tattered, leather vests, dark pants with scuffed, leather chaps and worn out boots with cheap spurs. Over it all, they are wearing boot high, tan canvas dusters.

The second train robber walks down the aisle with an open canvas bag, without warning he slaps the first passenger with his pistol, "Put all yer valuables in this here poke. Don't hold out on us or yer find out what'll happen to yer next." As he comes down the aisle, Hank cautiously slips his pistol from its holster and hides it under his coat lying in his lap. "Fill'er up I said," repeats the man with the bag. Outlaw number one is still standing at the door watching; man number two is just two seats from Hank and Charlie. Reaching them, he waves the Colt again telling them to hand over their valuables. Hank has a couple of gold double-eagles, but poor ole Charlie is so broke he'd have to borrow money to put in the robber's sack.

"Here," said Hank, handing the two twenty-dollar gold pieces to the robber. That's all I got. Charlie is so broke he says the lack of money is the root of all evil. He ain't got nothing to give."

Pushing the barrel of his Colt into Hank's chest, number two sees Poppa Scarburg's watch fob, "What's that there? Looks like a gold watch to me. Pass her over."

"Nah, feller, that watch belonged to my Poppa Scarburg, and I'm not fixin' to give it to you. I've already given you my last two double-eagles, just be happy with them. I'm not givin' up my Poppa's watch; now you just go on about your robbing business."

Getting agitated, the outlaw turns to the one at the door, "This'en don't want to turn over his pocket watch, what'll you think I ought to do to him?"

"Shoot him dead, and take the damn pocket watch."

Turning back toward Hank the outlaw's eyes become as big as saucers - Hank has removed his .44 from under his coat, has the hammer cocked with its business end pointing directly between the eyes of number two standing with his mouth as wide open as the sack he is holding.

Before this bandit can carry out number one's order, Charlie grabs the outlaw's arm. Hank's Colt responds with a thundering explosion that blew number two, half his head, and all his brains, across the aisle into the empty seat across from Charlie. Hank stands immediately and fires again. His aim is perfect. The outlaw at the door, grabs his chest as blood begins to ooze out of his canvas duster. He drops his Colt, looks strangely at Hank with a bewildered look utters "What! No! No...", then looks down at his hand covered with his red blood seeping out between his fingers, his knees buckle, and he falls in a crashing thud face first to the railcar floor.

Still standing, Hank reaches into the robber's sack and removes his two gold coins then speaks to the other passengers. "Grab this bag folks and retrieve all your valuables. We'll put this one here," pointing to the dead outlaw across from Charlie, "down there with that other hooligan. We'll be in St. Looie in a few hours, and let the Sheriff take over."

Looking out the window again, Hank sees two men riding away from the train; he thinks these two must be accomplices of the two dead ones. They must have been the ones that stopped the train and now know the train robbery did not go as planned. With no loot in hand, they can be thankful they are not as unfortunate as their two partners, at least, they are able to be riding away.

The passengers on their way from Chicago to St. Louis are beginning to calm down after the harrowing experience with the two outlaws. The conductor speaks to Hank and Charlie, "Gentlemen, the St. Louis and Santa Fe railroad owes youse two a mighty debt of gratitude. Without your help no telling how many folks these here two desperadoes might have kilt. When we pull into St. Looie I'll explain it all to the Sheriff. There's no reason to hold you two up; I know you are meeting the Texas Special on to Dallas. I hope youse two has better luck on it, but again for these here passengers and the railroad may I say many thanks to youse."

At the conclusion of the conductor's spiel, the passengers in the car stand up and in unison begin clapping. One or two of the men start to whistle, a couple of the women wave their handkerchiefs to show their appreciation. One man is heard to say, "Well done, young men."

Hank and Charlie take off their hats and wave them in the air, but both are embarrassed by it all. The crowd quietens down as do Hank and Charlie. "Hank, that was amazing, simply amazing, you were so brave."

"No, Charlie it was you who was brave."

"Me? Why, Hank you killed both of those fellers. I did not even have a gun."

"I know Charlie, but if you hadn't grabbed that outlaws arm he could have gotten off a shot before I pulled the trigger. You are the hero, my little Coe-manch, Brother. I have always known you were a very courageous person, and I have always been very proud of you, but never more than today."

"Thank you, Hank, for saying that, let us get off this bad news stuff and get back to the present. When do we get to St. Looie? And where is that eating car? I am ready to get headed to Dallas. You suppose they will have pee-can pie on their train?"

The layover in St. Louis is brief - the St. Louis County Sheriff comes aboard the St. Louis and Santa Fe passenger car and takes possession of the two dead outlaws. They are unceremoniously thrown in the back of a wagon and hauled away. He then obtains depositions from the conductor and a couple of the affected passengers. Hank and Charlie tell the Sheriff about the previous events as they remember them and are allowed to board the Texas Special on to Dallas without being delayed any longer nor any charges being filed.

"Say, Hank, how much further is it to Dallas?"

Chapter Twenty-Eight

THE GOLD WATCH

The Texas Special pulls away from the boarding platform and heads south to San Antonio as Charlie tilts his Stetson down over his eyes and within moments is fast asleep.

A few miles out of Dallas the engineer up front in the steam engine pulls down hard on the rope to the loud steam whistle. Charlie awakes with a start. "Are we there yet?" Charlie asks.

"Go back to sleep, and no, we're not there yet."

An older gentleman with a long, white beard sits across the aisle from them chuckles, "I see your friend is a little impatient," he said speaking to Hank.

Looking toward the old feller Hank responds, "Yeah, he is, but I'm afraid he is not my friend. Whoa, that came out wrong - Charlie IS my friend, but what I meant to say he is my brother. He is Charlie Scarburg, and I am Haskell Scarburg, most people call me Hank."

"It's nice to meet you Mr. Scarburg, my name is Roscoe P. Ledbetter, from Alabama. The 'P's fer Percy, but I ain't never used it much. Sounds to sissified, if you ask me. Ma thought it sounded nice tho'. I'm headed to the next rail station pass San Antone to live with my niece. Most just call me Ros. As you can see I'm getting on in years, in fact, I will be seventy-nine my next birthday. My wife died a year or so back, and I have no more family in Alabama, to speak of, and at my age, I need someone to tend to me."

"Nice to meet you too Mr. Ledbetter...Ros, Charlie and I are headed home to Jericho, our ranch is northwest of San Antone. Sure will be glad to get back home again, but, Sir you appear sound and healthy, why in the world would you need someone to help you. Oh, I'm sorry, Sir, I did not mean to pry into your health, forgive me."

"Son, no harm done. I can see by the tan military britches you both are wearing you must have served in the recent war fighting the Spanish in Cuba. Am I correct?"

"Ros, you have a keen eye, Sir, yes, Charlie and I were recently mustered out of service and are heading home."

"Mr. Scarburg, I too am a veteran - a veteran of the recent unpleasantries with our northern neighbors. I was a Sergeant in the 48th Alabama Infantry, Confederate States of America. We took part in that big battle at Gettysburg, a battle I'm sure of which you have heard. Lost this left leg at the Devil's Den," he said tapping on the fake leg with his cane. "I normally, when traveling, wear my trousers to cover my wooden leg as I am today. This ole leg or I should say, the lack of this ole leg, necessitates I have some help at home. After my wife died, my niece wrote me and generously invited me to come live with her and her family. I get a small pension from Alabama, but it ain't enough to cover hiring someone to look after me."

"That is very kind of her, Ros. My Poppa Scarburg was in that awful War too, but he never talked about it very much. So, can't say what part he played in the War. He's dead now, so I can't ask him."

"Come over here, Son, and sit on the bench with me, and lets you and me talk." Hank leaves Charlie fast asleep on their seat and moves across the aisle to sit next to Mr. Ledbetter. The passenger car in which they are riding is practically empty, occupied with only three or four persons seated at the front. Finding a vacant seat is no problem.

"Ros, as I said my Poppa never spoke much about the War. I always thought he probably did nothing of importance in the War, or he did so much that was bad he did not want to talk about it, of course as I said he's dead now, so I can't question him about it."

"Mr. Scarburg..."

"Hank, please Ros."

"Hank I knew a Colonel Scarburg when I served in the Confederacy. I'm not for sure if this was your grandfather or not, the names the same, but the man I knew was not from Texas he joined up in Alabama and served as our Brigade Commander with me in the 48th Alabama. Is it possible your grandpa is the same man I served with? But I must admit the odds are slim."

THE WATCH

"You know Ros," Hank said pulling his pocket watch from his breast pocket, "I have Poppa's gold pocket watch he gave to me before he died. There is an engraved inscription on the back, but I have never paid much attention to the words. It might give you some clue. I know he brought it home from the War."

"May I see the watch, Hank." Hank hands the watch to the old gentlemen. "When the War ended at Appomattox Courthouse in Virginia, the men of the Second Brigade presented our Colonel, Colonel William Scarburg, with an engraved, gold watch before we all went our separate ways. Let me check the back." Turning the watch over Ros opens the cover, reads the engraving, then a broad grin crosses his face.

"What is it, Sir."

"The inscription reads,

Presented to Colonel William E. Scarburg

48th Alabama Inf - C.S.A.

1861 - 1865

These words prove without a doubt that your grandpa was our Regimental Commander. This watch is evidence that no one can refute." He rubs the watch lovingly, "It's been a long time since I held this beautiful ole watch."

Sliding up close to Mr. Ledbetter Hanks said quietly, "Sir, do you have something more to say. Something that concerns my Poppa.

Still holding the watch, and staring out into nothingness, one can see in his eyes the years flowing like a stream through the old fellow's mind. Ros finally speaks, "You know, Son, there ain't been a day, no not one, that I ain't thought of your, Grandpa..." he said reverently, "Colonel Scarburg...just think of it, atter all these here years meetin' his grandson on a train bound for San Antone, Texas. How about that?"

"Did something happen to Poppa during the War? Can you tell me?"

"Yes, something momentous did occur during the War." Lowering his voice to almost a whisper, "something I have never revealed to a living soul, not even to my wife, God bless her resting soul." Looking around the passenger car as though someone might be listening, "It concerns your Poppa Scarburg and me."

"Sir, please continue."

"It was like this. A few days before the surrender by General Bobby Lee we had been marching and fighting day and night from a place called Petersburg, Virginia. We had been besieged at that place by General Ulysses S. Grant for nearly a year, and Bobby Lee decided we needed to escape to fight another day, so we did. Anyway, not to get sidetracked with the fighting on the second or third day out of Petersburg your grandpa Colonel Scarburg called some of us together and laid out a mission that General Lee had come up with. It was a scheme developed from information our spies had discovered."

"What was it?" Asks Hank.

"Keep yer britches on, young feller, I'm gettin' to it. The plan was for us to capture a wagon the Yankees was movin' toward Washington, D.C."

"A wagon?"

"Be patient as I said. There's more. This wagon was from that Yankee scum General William Tecumseh Sherman. It contained the spoils of his raid across Georgia. He looted and stole all the gold in every bank in every town clear across the state of Georgia. Now the Federals were sending this treasure back up north to Washington. General Lee thought it would be a good idea for that not to take place. So, your Grandpa, Colonel Scarburg, was given the orders to intercept this wagonload of gold and get it back into the hands of the Confederacy. Many a farmer and businessman lost their life's saving and their livelihood as Sherman marched through Georgia."

"Yeah," said Hank, "I hear tell those folks over there in Georgia are still having a hard time these forty years after the War."

"That bastard Sherman burned and killed in a sixty-mile-wide swath across the whole state, and those people are still suffering to this day. Let me ask you something Hank, does your family eat black-eyed peas and fatback on the 1st day of the new year?"

"Why of course, it is a tradition, eating black-eyed peas will ensure we will have good fortune for the coming year. Why do you ask."

"Do you know where that tradition began?"

"Nah, just an old wife's tale I suppose."

"When that s.o.b. Sherman marched across Georgia in November and December of 1864 his troops either burned, stole or ate everything, and devastated everything else sixty miles wide to Savannah. Once his army marched away from a farm or plantation, there was nothing left - no food, no house, no outbuildings, no barns and no feed for the horses or mules, if the Yanks had left them any animals they had overlooked. Since most of the able bodied men were off fighting those heathen Yankees, the citizens of Georgia, then being nothing but old men, young boys, and women, got down on their hands and knees, once the Yanks left, and picked up the scraps of peas in the dirt where the Yankee horses had dropped them from their feed bags. These determined Georgia folks dug many a pea seed from even the manure left by them Yankee horses. When spring arrived in 1865, these few pea seeds were all they had to plant in the Yankee ravaged soil of Georgia for the coming year's food. The peas sprouted, grew and provided enough food for the family's to exist on the rest of the year. Eating peas on New Year's Day is to celebrate the fact that without those dropped peas the people of Georgia would have starved that coming year."

"Wow, never heard that story. That's pretty interesting, but I'm dying to know, did you and my Poppa get the wagon full of gold back to General Lee."

"I'll answer yes and no, I guess I should say not exactly. Me and Colonel Scarburg and a few of the other boys attacked that wagon, for sure, along with its small number of guards."

"Only a couple of guards? Why so lightly defended?"

"Those smart-alecky Yanks thought us southern boys would be too ignorant to think a wagon load of gold would be traveling so lightly guarded, and we probably would have too had it not been for the information provided by our spies."

" Go on."

"We killed them Yanks, made off with the wagon and thought we were home free, and we was 'till we come to the mighty Tennessee River. You know that river is broad and deep, and we didn't have no ferry to cross it."

"What'd y'all do?"

"We thought we could cut down trees and tie logs to the side of the wagon and make it kind of a raft. So that's what we did. We worked feverishly cutting down trees to get logs to place alongside that Yankee wagon full of gold. In a few hours, we had that wagon ready to float across the ole sprawling Tennessee."

"You mean to tell me you guys didn't even look into the boxes of gold on the wagon?" Hank asks.

"Hold on, young feller, this, so they say, is where the plot thickens. Yeah, before shoving off we removed one of the wooden chests of gold. It had a big ole U.S. stamped on its side, I don't know exactly how much was in it, but we divided the whole contents between the group of us. Each of us Confeds got an equal share of the gold. We thought the War was almost over anyway and some of the officers in headquarters would take it, so if someone had to have it, why not us? I can still see us gathered around that saddle blanket we had spread on the ground watching Colonel Scarburg make pile after pile of gold bars for each of the men. As the men gathered up their share of the bars of gold, the Colonel stressed to each of us the need to keep this matter quiet and never say anything about it later. The Colonel asked each man to grasp their hands together across the blanket and make a solemn oath to never speak of this again, and, as far as I know, we never did."

"And you haven't until this day? Is this right?"

"Hank, you are the only person I have ever told this story. Only because William E. Scarburg was your Grandpa, and I thought it was a story you needed to hear. No, I'm not worried something will happen to me, heck, the War has been over nearly forty years, and we lost. Ain't nobody looking for us ignorant hillbillies." Ros said flashing his toothless smile.

"So gold was all that was in that wagon, was there anything else?"

"Funny thing Hank, in that chest of gold bars we also found a book, or you might say a journal. Them ole Yankees might have been short of brains and a lot of other qualities, but keeping records wasn't one of them. General Sherman had the men tell him every plantation they burned, each bank and the amount of gold stolen, he even had the officers give him the names of the farmers that had their barns and animals destroyed."

"Wow, I sure would like to have seen that journal with all those names and details of the General's raid."

Opening his leather satchel Mr. Ledbetter was carrying, he reached inside, "Funny you should ask," he said, handing the journal to Hank. "Here is the journal written by Sherman personally with notes from his senior staff members. It is yours. I have had it in my possession for way too many years."

"No, no, Ros you've had that journal all these years, it rightly should belong to you."

"Listen, Hank; I'm an old man, you keep this journal and remember your Poppa Scarburg every time you see it." And he added, "It wouldn't hurt none if you might remember me ever' now and then too."

"If you insist, thanks for the journal, and don't worry I'll never forget Poppa or you, but you never said what happened to the wagon and all the rest of the gold."

"Two final things, first the gold - about halfway across the Tennessee River the ropes holding the logs must have gotten wet and come loose. The wagon sank before we could do anything. Yep, sank deeper than granny's old well as the saying goes. It was way too deep to try diving to get to the gold. I suppose it is still lying right where it went down. Second, I'd guess it might be possible for someone with the right know how to go down to the bottom of that old cold, deep, Tennessee River and bring them wooden chests back to the surface. But beings you mentioned it, a few years back I did hear a rumor that the Feds was goin' to undertake a job to try to get that gold back. Never heard if they found it or not, but after nearly forty years, I'd be lucky just to be able to find the Tennessee River."

As far as your Poppa's watch, you still have some of that Yankee gold. You see all the fellers on that 'mission' pitched in a part of their gold to make that watch you now hold in your hand.

You asked what happened to the gold - you're holding part of it, and you never did think about your Jericho Ranch your grandpa bought after the War, did you?

Did you ever think where'd he get the cash money for all that Texas land?"

Chapter Twenty-Nine

SAN ANTONE TO JERICHO

The Texas Special pulls into the San Antonio rail station. The conductor walks down the center of the aisle ringing a small bell, "Next station San Antonio, next station San Antonio," he repeats over and over.

"Sorry, Ros, this is where we get off. Sure has been enlightening talking to you, thank you. And thanks for General Sherman's journal, I will treasure it always."

"No, Hank it is me who should be thanking you. I have held this secret inside for so many years, and now that it is out I feel so much better. I now feel free, thank you, and good luck to you and Charlie."

Charlie is barely beginning to open his eyes, he has been asleep since the train left St. Louis. Hank shakes him and said, "Coe-manch, get up, yes we are finally here. Get your mangy bones moving; we've got to get Black Magic and Lil Sue. I bet that beautiful pinto of yours has missed you."

Leaving Mr. Letterman to continue his train trip a little farther south, Hank shakes his hand as they leave, "Ros, good luck to you too. Sir, please remember the Jericho ranch, it's about twenty miles northwest from here. If you ever need anything, anything at all Jericho is always open to you."

"Thank you, Hank; it has been a pleasure."

GOING HOME

San Antonio was barely out of sight when the sweet perfume of the southwestern desert strikes Hank's nostrils. He sucks in a lungful of the delightful aroma. 'How different,' he thinks, 'than the fungus, mold, and rot of the Cuban jungle.' Turning to Charlie, "How sweet is it going to be, Brother to see that Jericho Gate? I can hardly wait."

"Man, am I ready to get home Hank. I do not think I will ever leave again."

"Oh, Charlie I just now remembered - Indian Joe and Margarita came down from North Dakota after Pa passed away. They should still be at Jericho when we get there."

"Whoopee, now we are talking. I cannot wait to see ole Indian Joe and Marg. Been a spell since we have seen them."

"You know, Charlie, before we get home, there's something I've wanted to talk to you about, but it only seems I couldn't find the right time."

"What, Hank? You can tell me now."

"I got a letter a while back, Charlie, from our foreman. He said in his letter that after Pa died Jesse had Jericho deeded over to his name and his name only. The foreman said it was Mr. Sims, our lawyer, advising him to do it. Knowing how Jesse has always wanted sole possession of Jericho, I bet it didn't take Mr. Sim much arguing to get Jesse to go along with that idea."

"What are we to do, Hank?"

"Nothing right now, we'll figure it all out later. It's too soon after Pa's passing to get involved in a family quarrel. But Jericho belongs to you and me as much as it does to Jesse. I don't care what Mr. Sim's said."

"Hank whatever you say. You know I am with you."

After this conversation, the ride from San Antonio to Jericho went by swiftly. The two brothers were excited as they came over the last hill. They could now see their beautiful Jericho Gate off in the distance. Another few minutes and they will be riding up the road to the main house. Going through the Jericho Gate Charlie said to Hank, "Say, brother, did those ram's horns used to be painted gold?"

Without looking up, Hank answered, "Yeah, they are gold why do you ask?"

Reining his horse to a stop, Charlie still looking up at the wrought iron gate said, "Hank they sure are not gold now - they are painted white. And I mean really white! Reckon why Jesse painted over the gold?"

"Don't know, Charlie, but we'll be home in a few minutes we'll ask him. Giddy up Black Magic," Hank said spurring his horse's flanks.

Riding from the Jericho Gate they near the main house, but no one comes out to greet them. Where are Jesse, Joe, and Margarita? Tying up to the hitching rail at the front porch Hank observes the red stain on the steps. He takes another stride or two upon the porch and detects a large spot of red coloring the brown sandstone floor. Hank had been in Cuba long enough to recognize dried blood, if this isn't blood, then he can think of nothing else it could be.

Without hesitation, they walk inside. Jesse is in the front parlor. He barely exhibits any emotion on their arrival. He is sitting on the settee, leaning forward with his face in his hands crying.

"Goodness," said Hank, "now isn't this a fine welcome home celebration? What in the world is going on, Jesse? Where are Indian Joe and Margarita, and the cowhands? I didn't see anyone working, where is everyone, Jesse?"

On their way in, Hank and Charlie did not notice the five freshly dug graves in the family cemetery next to the large oak tree.

EARLIER - TO TOWN & BACK

Jesse delivers the three live outlaws and the dead hooligan to the Sheriff in town. After turning over his captives, he thinks a few drinks at the Pink Garter saloon will be in order before returning immediately to Jericho. Jesse thinks to himself, 'I haven't been to town in quite some time, so I believe I deserve a couple of stiff drinks and some talk with the guys.' He believes there is no harm in spending a few hours at the Pink Garter drinking with his friends, catching up on the latest gossip and hearing how the other fellers ranches are doing. Jesse spends the rest of the afternoon drinking and slapping his friends on the back laughing at their dumb jokes. This type of behavior is common to life in a small Texas town at the turn of the nineteenth century.

It is almost sundown when Jesse rides Beau through the Jericho Gate up to the house. All the way from town Beau leads the way, Jesse is pretty inebriated. In fact, he is doing fairly well just to sit upright in the saddle. Beau knows how to get home, and with or without Jesse's help he heads to Jericho.

Jesse steps down from the saddle at the front porch, drops the reins and Beau immediately turns and walks toward the barn. He knows one of the cowhands will remove his saddle, put him in his stable, rub him down and give him water to drink and oats to eat. This day, however, that is not going to be the routine.

Half-drunk Jesse is on the first step of the porch when he sees the bodies. Indian Joe lies crumbled up on the floor. Margarita is stretched out next to him with one arm reaching as though she is trying to help him. Dried blood pools around them both. Jesse can readily see they are dead. He had been slightly drunk as he comes upon the porch, but he is fully sober now. He jumps from the porch to yell for help at the barn and notices Beau has stopped part way to the barn and his stable. Jesse will take Beau down to the barn himself and get help from a couple of the wranglers that live in the room at the back of the barn.

However, plans change. When Jess gets to Beau standing in the yard, he sees why his horse did not continue. Three more dead bodies are lying in the dirt - the cowboys that tried to help Joe and Margarita. If a horse could think it is as though Beau is looking at his three dead friends thinking, 'Come on guys, I need you to put me in the barn; I'm sweaty and tired. Quit lying there, get up.'

Finding his dead wranglers is too much. He needs help. Jesse mounts Beau and turns into the pasture heading to the western section. The rest of the ranch hands live in the small bunkhouse over there. They stay there during fall round-up and branding. That way, they do not have to ride all the way back and forth to the main bunkhouse at the end of each day. When he gets there, and tells them of his discovery all the wranglers rush from the bunkhouse, saddle their horses, and at a full gallop head toward Jericho's ranch house.

THE SAD EXCUSE

At first, Jesse does not speak. It is as though he is in a trance. It is not a trance Jesse is in shock. "Charlie, go to the kitchen and bring me some cool water and a couple of rags."

Returning with these items, Charlie asks if there is anything they can do?

Without responding, Hank lays Jesse down on the settee and applies wet cloths to his forehead. In a few minutes, Jesse regains his composure. "Charlie, please get Jesse a glass of water." Jesse sits up and takes a sip of water then begins telling Hank and Charlie what happened.

"It all began a couple of weeks after Pa died."

"Yeah," said Hank, "but, Jesse that was months ago."

"I know, I know, just let me continue. It was a few weeks after we buried Pa out in the family cemetery. Indian Joe and Marg came driving their wagon in from North Dakota. They left up there right after I wired them about Pa's passing. Anyway, as they were driving the wagon down here, they came to the Missouri River and witnessed a steamboat unloading wooden crates of gold on the shore and burying them."

"How did they know the steamboat was burying gold?"

"Brother," said Jess, "no questions, just let me tell you what happened. They didn't know it was gold until a landslide on the mountain over the hiding place took place and buried all the men from the steamboat, including the boat itself."

"You mean all?" Asks Charlie.

"I thought I said wait until I finish to ask questions, Brother."

"Sorry, go on."

"Joe and Marg were on a ridge overlooking the men working down on the river. When the landslide happened, it killed all the men hauling the chests of gold, all the men standing on the shore and the mudslide was so big it even sunk the steamboat killing all hands onboard. After watching this terrible event they drove their wagon down to the spot where this all took place to see if there was anything they might do to help, there wasn't, but they found two chests that had not been completely buried and talked to one man right before he died. He told them the steamboat was carrying over five million dollars in treasure."

"Was it gold? Did they find chests of gold?" Charlie anxiously asks.

Looking at Charlie annoyingly, "Yeah, Charlie they found two chests of gold and hoisted it onto their wagon and brought it here with them."

"By the way Jess, where are Joe and Marg? I didn't see hide nor hair of them when we rode in?" Asks Hank.

"I tell you about them in a second. Joe and Marg didn't go back north right away, they stayed and helped me out on the ranch. Yesterday as Joe and I were working down by the barn four strangers ride in. Joe mentioned he saw some riders watching from a nearby hilltop as he and Marg loaded the two chests onto his wagon. So, we knew whoever these men on the ridge were they would probably show up here eventually. We were right. The four riders - the hooligans, outlaws, good-for-nothing thieves were the ones who appeared at Jericho.

Their leader pulled his pistol and threatened to kill us if we didn't tell them where we had buried the gold from the chests. I told him Joe's wagon did have two wooden chests in it, but both were empty. And I swore to this outlaw that there was no gold buried on Jericho."

"Jess was there ever any gold?"

"Sure, two chests full of gold bars. Thirty pounds per bar, and thirty bars to a chest," replied Jesse.

"But Jess, you said you swore there was no gold."

"No, what I swore was there was no gold buried on Jericho, and there isn't. We melted it down and made four ram's horns for the Jericho Gate, we painted the gold white and used them to replace the old wooden horns. Each ram's horn weighs close to four hundred fifty pounds of pure gold."

"Right, we saw them as we rode in. What happened next?"

"I had my Winchester leaning against the barn wall, just inside the door, I grabbed it and killed the leader and got the drop on the others."

"Jess, you did good. There's nothing to make you be so down on yourself," commented Hank. "Sounds to me like you did a fine job."

"No, that's not it Hank, you see, we bound up the other three outlaws, and Joe and I pitched the dead one over his saddle, and I carried them into town to the Sheriff."

"Yeah, nothing wrong about that."

"It wouldn't have been if I had come straight back to Jericho, but after I left the Sheriff, I went to the Pink Garter to have a drink before heading home."

"I can see you needed something to calm your nerves."

"If I had only that one drink, but I stood around in the saloon all afternoon drinking shot after shot of rotgut and talking with all my friends. I didn't leave until late yesterday to come back to Jericho."

Hank pats Jesse on the shoulder, "Brother, you're too hard on yourself."

"I'm not finished - while I was at the saloon drinking and having fun with all of my pals another band of outlaws rides into Jericho an hour or so after I left. Joe and Marg were here at the main house. These good-for-nothings demanded the gold, Joe went for his rifle, and they killed him on the front porch. Margarita tried to go to his aid, and they killed her too, and...and..." he said trying to hold back the tears, "they killed Trump too, our beautiful German shepherd. If I had not stayed in the Pink Garter I could have been here to help them; they might still be alive. And our three wranglers too, they killed them when they ran to help. They carried Pedro off as a hostage."

"Now, Brother this is bad, I admit, but it is not your fault. If you had been here, they probably would have killed you too. What happened to Mamacita while all this was taking place? Did they kill her too?"

"No, Mamacita was in the kitchen when Marg went to get the riders a bucket of water. She followed Margarita and stayed hidden at the front door. She saw and heard every word of this terrible incident."

"So, they didn't kill Mamacita?"

"No, she remained in hiding, the outlaws never knew they had left a witness."

"Where is she now Jesse?"

"This morning we buried Joe, Marg and our three wranglers in our family cemetery. After the burials, Mamacita, left Jericho to stay with her daughter. She's there now, safe for the time being. Before she left, she told me all the details of these brutal killings. She further said the leader, a Mexican, was riding a beautiful Palomino horse with the whitest mane and tail she had ever seen. It had a white star on its forehead and had three white socks. She said most, if not all his riders, were Mexican pistoleros."

"Jesse, what happened to this bunch of scum?"

"As much information I could get from Mamacita, after killing Indian Joe, Marg, our cowhands, and Trump, they rode out under the Jericho Gate with Pedro as a hostage, and turned south, heading toward Mexico."

THE CHASE

"Wow, that is an awful story. I can see why you're so upset, but this is not over. In fact, Jesse, this is just beginning. We're going after those good-for-nothings. Our foreman can look after Jericho until we return." Hank instructs Charlie to get the twelve gauge shotguns, load up all the extra shotgun shells, rifle and pistol cartridges, and pack food, especially take all the beef jerky they can carry and grab the water canteens. Hank emphasizes they will be riding hard and fast; there'll be no time to stop for provisions. Charlie is to take the lead and being such a good tracker he is to stay on their trail until they catch up with the murdering outlaws.

Within the hour Jesse, Hank, Charlie, and four of their best Jericho ranch hands, Tomas, James, Jose, and Alvin have their horses loaded and ready to get into hot pursuit of the murdering pistoleros. In addition to their mounts, each man has an extra horse. Hank remembered the story of the Comanche raiding party changing horses as they rode out of the Dakotas with the Sioux fresh on their heels, chasing them. The Jericho murderers have a one-day start, but Hank knows this is precisely how they are going to catch those murdering heathens. They will imitate the Comanche, and swap out a tired horse for a fresh one.

At the Jericho Gate, Charlie dismounts and examines the horse tracks of the hunted. One of the horseshoes has a piece broken off. To Charlie this broken shoe print is as good as a roadmap, he can follow these prints in the dark.

The group of Jericho men ride southward for a few miles, finally coming to a 'y' in the road. The left fork is a direct route to San Antonio, taking a right allows a traveler to continue toward the Mexican border. Within an instant, Charlie checks the horse prints and points to the fork leading right - to Mexico.

Late in the evening, Charlie finds a burned out campfire. This camp is apparently where the murderers slept overnight. Charlie picks up a couple of pieces of burnt firewood, crushes it between his fingers, puts it under his nose to get a satisfactory smell and finally touches the scorched wood with his tongue. Turning to Hank, "Less than twenty-four hours ago, Brother."

"We're making up time on them. Mount up, Charlie; we're burning daylight."

The seven Jericho men ride all night, swapping off and onto their spare horses always riding a fresh mount that has been rested. At sunup the following morning their horses may be rested, but the butts of Jericho's riders are anything but invigorated; however, Charlie is about to give them all a mental lift. He finds a pile of horse manure in the road, left there by one of the murderer's horses.

Charlie is off his horse before Lil Sue has fully stopped running. Over to the pile of manure he races, reaches down and scoops up a handful of horse poop. "Heck, Charlie what in the hell are you doing?"

Without paying any attention to Hank Charlie turns and announces, "They are only about a half a day ahead. We'll catch them about the time they reach the Rio Grande River."

Hank, sitting on Black Magic said, "And you can tell this by that pile of horse manure?" Mocking Charlie, "Can you tell me what those outlaws ate for breakfast?"

Rubbing the manure between his thumb and index finger, Charlie grins and said, "Nah, but I can tell you what their horses ate."

RIO GRANDE RIVER

Late in the afternoon, they approach a bend in the road. Hank holds up his hand signaling the men to stop. Charlie is only a few hundred yards ahead and sees they have halted and returns to the group. "Men, the Rio Grande River is just around the next bend in the road. They will not know we are pursuing them so they could be camped on the U.S. side, could be in the river going across, or they could have already crossed over to the Mexican side."

"Good job, Charlie, regardless, men remove your rifles from their scabbards and have the safeties off and a cartridge loaded ready to use. Ride up ahead, Charlie and give the river a look-see, we need to know what they are doing."

Charlie rides around the bend and disappears behind a grove of hardwood trees. The men, including Jesse and Hank, sit nervously on their horses and keep they eyes glued to the bend in the road for Charlie's return. A few minutes pass and Charlie has not returned. Hank is about to ride ahead to check on Charlie himself. He has slipped his boots firmly into his stirrups and is a second from digging his spurs into Black Magic's flanks. Before Hank can urge Black Magic forward, Charlie comes charging around the curve galloping full speed toward them.

Arriving in a cloud of dust, "They are there alright, but already on the other side. The murdering dogs seem to be camped as far as I can tell. I counted eight of them, and I saw that Palomino horse tied to a tree. Mamacita was right, the mare is as pretty as 'Cita said, but, Hank I saw something terrible too. I saw a body hanging by the neck from a tree. It must be Pedro."

The men from Jericho stand on the American side of the Rio Grande and can see the murderers sitting around a campfire on the Mexican side. Behind them swings a lifeless body. One of the murderers walks down to the water's edge and yells back across the river, "Hey, you gringos chasing us? You from that Texas Jericho ranch? I hate to tell you, folks, we is in Mexico, now adiós. Keep yer gringo butts on yer side of the river. Gringos ain't allowed in our country."

"Tomas, did you bring your ole Sharps buffalo gun?"

"Yep, sure did Hank, right here," he said patting his saddle scabbard, "just savin' her for the perfect moment."

"Perfect," said Hank, "Tomas, that moment has arrived. Get her out and shut that bandito's mouth across the river. You are the best shot among us."

"Can do Hank, just give me a minute." Tomas pulls the big ole buffalo gun from its leather holster. He walks to a small sapling with an excellent limb on which to rest his rifle to take the shot. Tomas takes out his pocket knife, cuts an 'x' across the tip of the bullet. He then slides in the .52-50 brass cartridge into the breach of the Sharps rifle.

"Hank, why did Tomas cut the tip of his bullet?"

"I don't know," Hank replied sarcastically, "he thinks that will make the bullet more destructive when it strikes its target."

"Does it, Hank?"

"Honestly, Charlie, you think getting hit by a bullet over a half inch wide traveling at twelve hundred feet per second, with an 'x' cut on its tip will hurt worse than one without an 'x'?"

In the meantime, Tomas has the Sharps propped on a lower limb. He picks up a handful of dead grass, drops it to the ground to gauge the direction and speed of the wind. He adjusts the rear sight to its five-hundred-yard setting, pulls the stock tightly against his shoulder, removes his Stetson, hangs it on a limb, and places the front sight six inches to the left of the center mass of the man's chest standing on the far side of the Rio Grande. The six inches will allow for the wind's drift of the bullet. The outlaw is still standing beside the river yelling insults at Hank. Standing there motionless is to be his last mistake he will ever make. This mistake is going to be fatal.

The Sharps discharges with a tremendous roar; when the smoke clears, Tom is shaking his head to dispel the ringing in his ears. Just 1.25 seconds after the lead bullet travels across the river the bad mouthing murderer crumbles, face down onto the sand at the river's edge - dead. The fifty-two caliber bullet enters the front of his chest, just over his heart, as a perfect, slightly larger than a half inch hole, but it comes out his back right between his shoulder blades the size of his fist, carrying his heart and half his vital organs with it. A fifty-two caliber Sharps buffalo gun is nothing but a beast. At five-hundred yards it can drop a full grown, twelve-hundred pound, running buffalo! A buffalo is a real test for this weapon, a man is nothing. It is like slicing butter with a hot knife.

Before Tom can eject his spent cartridge and inject another the outlaws across the river, mount their horses and ride away deeper into Mexico.

"Jose," asks Hank. "What is the next town on the other side of the river? How far is it from here?"

"El Diablo, and it is only twenty or so miles farther south."

"Let's ride. We don't want to keep the Devil waiting."

EL DIABLO (THE DEVIL)

The seven Jericho men have no problem crossing the Rio Grande. This mighty old river begins in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado and empties into the Gulf of Mexico at Brownsville, Texas; in places, it runs deep and wide; however, at the point where they cross, the water is only a couple of feet deep. The Jericho men walk out of the river on the Mexican side and pass the dead outlaw and stop at his campsite.

The desperadoes were so frightened by the killing of their leader they have abandoned some of their saddlebags, bedrolls and a couple of rifles as they hastily escape Tomas' deadly Sharps rifle. Hanks first job is to take out his knife, cut the rope and get Pedro's body down. "Take a blanket and cover ole Pedro, we'll pick him up on the way back and carry him back to Jericho and give him a proper Christian burial in our family cemetery.

After taking care of Pedro, they rummage through the bandit's belongings and identify a few of the bandidos by name. One bandit's name is Raul Hernandez. His ornately decorated saddlebags have his initials R. H. inlaid with silver. As they continue on the chase knowing Raul is the name of one of the outlaws might come in handy when they find them.

Looking at the belongings left by the desperados, Hank asks Jose when was the last time he had been to El Diablo.

"Hank I came through there about a year ago, right before hiring on at your Jericho Ranch."

"Give me the layout of the town; we need to have a plan when we get there."

"It's not much of a town, Hank, mostly made up of four saloons, a blacksmith shop, a hotel, and a couple of other small businesses, all on one wide street. Most of the people that live there are fugitives from the law in the United States. The town don't even have a sheriff. There's a shooting or a fight almost every night in one of the saloons, but what can you expect from a bunch of bandits and hooligans?"

"So, you're saying if the group we're after is holed up in 'The Devil' they won't be expecting us?"

"Nah, them fellers never 'pected us to cross the Rio Grande, they believe it is against the law to follow them into Mexico."

"It would be if we were the law, but the last laugh is going to be on them, we ain't the law! Tell me about those saloons, on which side of the street are they located?"

"As we ride into town, there will be three joints on the left and one on the right. Hank, the Lucky Lady, is where they'll be. It's the only one on the right."

"How do you know Jose?"

"The Lady has the best liquor and the purtiest women. Most of their gals are Americans, and the three other saloons hire nothing but Mecs. And the women will dance and entertain for two dollars and a shot of redeye whiskey. And that saloon is the onlyest one that's got one of them spinning gambling wheels, they call it 'roolay' or something like that, and they never close. They is open spinnin' that wheel or playing cards twenty-four hours a day. If them bandits are gonna be anywhere in El Diablo that's where they'll be."

Before leaving the bandits old campsite, Hank gathers the men around him, "Look fellers, Jose has given me a pretty good picture of this town El Diablo and its saloons. Jose said the saloon on the right will be where these outlaws will go. Now, they are not going to be expecting us. We have the element of surprise working in our favor, so I say we let them have their fun at this place called the Lucky Lady. Let 'em get all liquored up, and we'll hit 'em at first light in the morning. Their heads will feel like they are gonna bust and they will be seeing double. It should be easy to take them by surprise. They killed Joe, Margarita, Juan and the others at Jericho, and don't forget Pedro hanging there beside the river, spare them no mercy tomorrow.

Those murdering hombres already have a good fire going, looks like a nice fat rabbit roasting over the coals, and these big trees will protect us from the evening dew. I say we drop our gear and stay here before riding to meet The Devil early tomorrow morning. We'll leave about two hours before sunrise, that will give us plenty of time to hit 'em as the sun is coming up. Throw that dead hombre in the river. He'll wash up downstream and be someone else's problem. We're not gonna waste time and energy burying that taco eatin' scumbag."

Around four o'clock the next morning Hank, Charlie, Jesse and the other four Jericho men are in their saddles headed to El Diablo. The sun has yet to come up over the eastern horizon, but enough light allows them to follow the road into town easily. Stopping on the outskirts of town Hank speaks softly to the men, "Once we push through the Lucky Lady's swinging doors and walk inside, Charlie and Jesse you take anyone on the left side of the room. Tomas, James, and Alvin you take the scatterguns and cover the right side. Me and Jose are going right down the middle.

Listen up men, I know this isn't anything you learned being a cowpoke, Charlie and me got a few lessons in Cuba, but my only advice is to shoot first and ask questions later. If you happen to shoot the wrong man, so be it, he probably needed killing anyway. Only one rule: don't hesitate. Hesitate, and you'll probably end up dead. Let's go."

Twilight was beginning as they walked their horses side by side down the wide main street. Jose was right, here is the Lucky Lady right where he said it would be. Tied to the hitching rails are quite a number of horses, one of particular interest is a beautiful, blonde Palomino with a white mane and tail and three white socks. These horses belong to the bandits; they are here alright.

They dismount in the alley next to the Lucky Lady and step along the wooden sidewalk toward the two swinging doors leading into the saloon. At six in the morning, their spurs sound like two cymbals crashing together as they take every step. They are afraid the noise will alert the bandidos. Looking over the two swinging doors, Hank can see the large room is full of sleeping, drunken bandits, and desperados, none have been aroused by their jingling spurs. Some are lying on the floor; others are asleep with their heads resting on the green, felt-covered tables. The barkeep is nowhere in sight. On the right side and left side of the room are two sets of stairs leading to a mezzanine which circles three sides of the bar room. Along the walls upstairs are doors leading, presumably, to bedrooms the women of the evening use to 'entertain' paying customers.

Swinging open the doors Jesse and Charlie move to the left, Tomas, James and Alvin slip over to the right. Hank and Jose step down the middle of the room and stop in the center. Hank shoots his rifle shattering the saloon's gilded mirror and throws the saddlebags belonging to the bandit on the shiny, mahogany bar. "Oh, Rauuul Hernandezzzz," Hank yells drawing his name out, "Rauuul, you left your saddlebags down by the river, I, being such a nice gringo, brought them back to you."

One of the upper doors flies open, and a tall, skinny, rough looking Mexican, with at least a month's growth of beard, dressed only in a pair of dirty, long johns with a pistol belt strapped around his waist steps out to the mezzanine's rail clutching his .44 in his hand. In Spanish, he is yelling denigrating insults down to Hank standing looking up at him. Hank understands the word 'gringo,' and a few of the cuss words ole Raul is using, but not much more. Except he knows Raul is not a happy man this early in the morning. Behind him, standing in the doorway is his 'lady' who appears to have seen better days, also.

"What do you want gringo? Why you come here bother us so early in the morning? You not suppose to be in Mexico...I think I must teach you gringos some Mexican manners."

"Revenge! We are here to punish you and your compadres for the killings of my friends on the Jericho Ranch. Unarmed friends, I might add. At least I'm giving you a sporting chance; I see you have your pistol in hand - use it when you feel ready to begin teaching me my manner's lessons."

The Mexican raises the pistol to fire - Hank is ready and much faster. Fanning his six-gun, Hank gets off three shots before Raul Hernandez can pull the trigger of his pistol. Pushing against the railing three bloody spots decorate the chest of his filthy long johns as he falls through the balcony railing and tumbles headfirst onto a felt-covered, poker table on the main floor. Another bandit sticks his head out from the adjoining room; he also has his pistol in his hand. Without flinching Hank fires the next round killing this man before he can get halfway out the door.

The outlaws and bandits in the main room are awakened by the firing of the pistol and the crashing of Raul from the balcony to the table below. For the next few minutes, pandemonium erupts within the walls of the Lucky Lady. The gun smoke is so thick it is impossible to see who is alive or dead, or who is still standing. Hank knows where is men are supposed to be, so he fires blindly into the smoke at the sound of a gunshot.

The gunfire and shotgun blasts finally stop. The room is deadly silent; they only hear a moan, then a pistol shot. Now the place is graveyard quiet. Hank and Jose are still standing in the middle of the room. They have to wait a second or two for the smoke to clear. Hank hollers, "Jesse? Charlie? Tomas? James? Alvin?"

At first, there is no response, then "Yeah, Hank, it's me, Jesse, I just got a nick in the arm, but me and Charlie are okay. How you doin'?"

"Yeah, me and Jose are fine."

"We are doing good too Hank," said Tomas from behind a table across the room, "Alvin took one in the shoulder, but it's a through and through. We get the bleeding stopped he should be okay."

The smoke clears, and Hank walks around the room. Men lay dead everywhere. Some have clean bullet holes from pistols and rifles, but others are cut almost in half by the twelve gauge, double ought buckshot. Hank thinks to himself about seeing deer shot with these type shotgun shells, but never a human being. Even to a recently discharged combat veteran, this is a gruesome scene.

"Where's James? Anybody see him? James!" Hank yells, but there is no answer.

"Over here," said Jesse in a somber voice. "I found him; he's had it, Hank."

They are all back on the sidewalk attending to Alvin's shoulder and Jesse's arm when Charlie asks, "How many did we kill, Hank?"

"All of 'em, Charlie, we killed them all, I think we even included a couple of locals in the bunch."

"Yeah," said Jesse, "we killed the barkeep, and I believe one of the working girls got in the line of fire too."

"Serves them right, they shouldn't have killed ole Trump, my beautiful German shepherd."

"Hold on, Hank, who told you they killed Trump?" Asks Tomas.

"I just assumed, Jesse said they shot him on the front porch after killing Joe and Marg."

"Nah, that ole shepherd ain't dead, he was shot alright, but we fixed him up, he's resting up down at the barn. He was hurt pretty badly, but he's a tough old bird. That ole rascal is gonna be fine."

"That's the first good news I've heard. Let's get home.

Grab that wagon and team that's tied up over there, and put ole James in back. We're gonna carry him and Pedro back to Jericho and bury them in our cemetery next to Ma and Pa. They are family now.

And fellers unhitch these outlaw's horses, we're carrying them back to Jericho. Tomas, Jose, and Alvin divide them up, they are yours. Now hitch that Palomino to the wagon I'm keeping him, those fellers ain't gonna have much use for them anymore anyways."

Chapter Thirty

RETURN TO JERICHO

A few days after the shoot-out at El Diablo, Hank, Charlie, and Jesse sit on the front porch. It is late fall and the wind blowing from the north has a crisp bite to it.

"Brrr," said Charlie slapping his arms together, "I believe I am going to leave this porch sitting to you two, I am going in and sit down by the good ole warm fireplace."

"Humm, Charlie, I believe I might have to join you. It's a little too cold for my blood out here too. I hope it isn't blowing up another blizzard like that one we had a few years back."

"Yeah, me too, but hold on a minute, Jess. There is something I need to talk to you about." Hank said.

"You got the floor, Brother. What's on your mind?"

"First, I never told you, but right after Charlie and I mustered out and was leaving Long Island to come home, Colonel Roosevelt talked to me about staying on with him. He offered me a job."

"Doing what Hank?"

"I don't know Jesse. He said he was probably going to enter the race for Governor of New York and needed me to help him."

"What's his chances of running and winning?"

"As far as running, I suppose that will be up to the New York political machine up there, but as to winning, he'll be a shoo-in. With his political experience and being the Assistant Secretary of the Navy along with his war record he'll be the man to beat."

"What are you gonna do Hank?"

"Nothing right now, he probably won't run, and even if he does, I'm sure he will have forgotten about me and his job offer. But the second thing is Jericho. I got word that you and Lawyer Sims transferred Jericho over to your name while Charlie and I was gone."

"Yeah, we did, but it was just for business reasons. Someone had to be officially in charge to make the day to day decisions. I have always intended to deed it back to the three of us once you two returned."

"Hank," said Charlie, "I see a rider coming through the Jericho Gate. Appears to be that young Western Union lad. Wonder who the telegram is for? Anyway, you all talk to him I am going into the house to warm up."

Without getting off his horse, the young man said, "Telegram for one Haskell Edward Scarburg in care of the Jericho Ranch. I am on the right ranch ain't I? Least that what the sign said at that front gate."

"Yes, you sure are, young man. You're sitting plumb near the center of our Jericho Ranch. I'm Haskell Scarburg, say you got a telegram for me? Let me sign for it."

Hank steps from the porch and signs for the telegram and hands the young man a silver dollar as a tip. The Western Union boy reins his horse around and heads back toward the Jericho Gate. Hank walks back upon the porch and sits down before opening the telegram's envelope. Jesse is on the edge of his seat anticipating the nature of the yellow telegraph paper Hank is now beginning to read."

"Well?"

"Well, what? I guess you want to know what this telegram said?"

"Well, yeah! If it ain't a government secret."

"Well, Mr. Nosey, it's from Colonel Roosevelt. He is asking if I will join him on the campaign trail for his bid for Governor of New York."

"What you gonna do, Hank?"

"I'm not sure, that's why I need to talk to you guys. I don't know what I will do now the Colonel has offered me a position on his campaign team."

"Hank, you're old enough to make up your own mind. You don't need our approval if that's what you want to do, go ahead and do it."

"Thanks, Jess, but you and Charlie will have the whole Jericho Ranch to take care of and that gold hanging on the front Jericho Gate, what are we to do with it? As far as who the gold belongs to, I'm at a loss there Jess. You know its last owners were Joe and Marg, but it did not really belong to them either, and it, sure enough, is not ours to keep. I'm not sure what to do with it. How much you reckon it's worth Jess?"

"I did some figuring, and I've come to a figure that there might be over half a million dollars of gold hanging on the Jericho Gate."

"Say, hold on a minute," Hank said getting up from his chair and going into the house. In a few seconds he returns with a leather-bound journal under his arm.

"See this journal, Jess. It was given to me by an old gentleman by the name of Roscoe Ledbetter - Sergeant Roscoe P. Ledbetter of the 48th Alabama Infantry. We met on the train coming down here from Dallas. He said Poppa Scarburg had been his Regimental Commander. Did Poppa Scarburg ever mention being a Regimental Commander to you?"

"No he didn't, Hank, but why would you believe any old codger you meet on a railroad train anyway? These old coots like to make up stories, and the older they get, the more exciting and heroic their war stories become. Why in the world, would you trust anything he said?"

THE WATCH

"He told me he and Poppa Scarburg had been in the 48th Alabama Infantry, right?" Removing his pocket watch from his vest pocket, "Have you ever seen the back of Poppa Scarburg's watch? No, me neither until Mr. Ledbetter said the men of the Second Brigade gave Poppa a gold watch when the War ended. Open the back, Jess and see what is written there."

Jesse opened the back of the gold watch and read out loud:

Presented to Colonel William E. Scarburg

48th Alabama Inf - C.S.A.

1861 - 1865

"What do you think now Jess?"

"I'll be darn, the old man was right. He did know Poppa Scarburg."

"Yeah, he sure did Jess, but here's what's more strange," Hank tells the entire story about the mission to capture the Yankee gold that Sherman's Army stole from the people of Georgia, how Poppa Scarburg and Sergeant Ledbetter divided the one chest of gold among the men on their patrol in equal amounts. Hank explains that Mr. Ledbetter said Poppa Scarburg's gold watch is made with the same gold from the Yankee's wagonload of gold."

"Hank, you ever hear Pa tell about Poppa Scarburg buying the land where Jericho is now? Mr. Ledbetter said he bet Poppa paid in gold when they came from Alabama. Reckon where Poppa got that much gold? Huh? I think now we might know. I can tell by that look on your face; you've got something on your mind, right, Hank?"

"Yeah, kind of, Charlie, how about coming back out on the porch. I've got something to say."

Stepping out on the porch, "What do you need, Hank? You know it is cold out here."

"Take a seat, Charlie. Jess and Charlie, see this journal in my hand? As I have already explained Mr. Ledbetter to Jess, and you don't know much more about him than Jess, you were asleep the whole way from Dallas, but he gave this journal to me. Poppa Scarburg and Sergeant Ledbetter found this journal in one of the Yankee chests of gold bars. Mr. Ledbetter said the journal was kept by that dastardly Yankee scumbag William Tecumseh Sherman as they pillaged, burned and savaged the people of Georgia during their march through the Georgia countryside. I have flipped through it - it appears to be a listing of all the awful atrocities Sherman's army committed with names, dates and places, and the amount of each loss the people suffered."

""I've known you too long, you are driving at something, spit it out, what are you trying to say, Hank." Said Jesse.

"That half million dollars of gold hanging over Jericho Gate could be part of the gold Poppa Scarburg, and Sergeant Ledbetter took from the Yankees."

"But, Hank Mr. Ledbetter said that gold sunk to the bottom of the Tennessee River."

"Yeah, that's right, but, what if it has been found."

"How?"

"Listen, I don't know, maybe it is the same, and maybe it isn't. What I do know, it's not ours, and we don't know who to give it back to officially. God has given me a vision - we got this Sherman journal, and we know exactly who had their homes burned, who had their valuables stolen, who had their life's saving confiscated from the banks. We have their actual names, we know the Georgia places, and we know the exact amounts."

"I think I am beginning to see what point you are trying to make. God did indeed give you a good vision, and I like it."

"Excuse me! I do not," said Charlie. "You two seem to be talking in code. Please tell me, Hank, what are you suggesting?"

"Let's take down those four solid gold ram's horns from the Jericho Gate, put them in the wagon, take them to San Antone and trade them for gold coins - twenty-dollar double-eagles - all half million dollars of it. Take the gold coins and this Sherman journal, and me, Jess and you, Charlie will go to Georgia to find the relatives of the people or the people themselves if they are still alive. We'll go to the places, the town, and banks and give the money back to the rightful owners."

"Do you have a plan already Hank," asks Jess.

"Yeah, somewhat, I looked at some of the histories concerning General Sherman. At Atlanta, he divided his forces into two great armies, one went south toward Macon, Georgia and the northern one headed east toward Savannah. I suggest we follow the northern route since Sherman himself remained with that army. Another couple of facts, first we can't follow the path of two armies, and second even with over half a million dollars, we will never get to Savannah with any money left. We'll run out long before then, but hey, the ones we reach will have a much better life than if we did nothing."

"Darn, Hank, what an idea, no what a great idea. I'm in," Jess said shaking Hank's hand.

"No use asking me, Hank, you know I am with you," said Charlie, "Who do you think is going to take care of you."

"But wait, what about the telegram from Colonel Roosevelt. What are you going to tell him if he sends notice of your job?"

"I'm going to send him a telegram telling him I'll take the job as soon as the responsibility we are about to undertake is complete."

"Is that all you are going to say?"

"Nah, Charlie, I'm going to add 'don't become Governor until I get there.'" They both laugh.

"Say, Charlie, speaking of telegrams, did I ever tell you about Mr. Spearman, he lives a couple of ranches north of here?"

"Nah, I never heard tell of him Jesse, what happened," Charlie asks honestly.

"Seems as though he went into town carrying a new pair of boots. His son was up north, and the boy needed some new boots. So Mr. Spearman goes into the Western Union telegraph office and tells the clerk he needs to send those boots by telegram to his son. Of course, the clerk tells, Mr. Spearman he cannot send boots by telegram. Shocked, Mr. Spearman said, 'What! I've heard tell people are sending money over that wire, even some folks have telegraphed flowers to other folks. Now yer tellin' me yer can't send a measly old pair of boots?"

"Well...well.." stammered the clerk, "No, Sir we can't."

"Dadburn," said the old gentlemen, "If that don't beat all!" He turns walks out of the telegraph office and throws the boots over the nearest telegraph wire. "There," he said maybe my boy will get 'em sooner or later."

Chapter Thirty-One

TO GEORGIA

Jesse, Hank, and Charlie gather around the dining room table. Papers, notes, and maps are scattered over every inch. The Scarburg boys are having a planning session for the second invasion of Georgia.

"The first thing we need to do is get those four ram's horns down from the Jericho Gate, load them on the wagon and haul them to San Antone. Once we find the biggest bank in town, we'll see if we can exchange that eighteen hundred pounds of gold for double-eagles."

"Hank, have you given any thought to how many twenty-dollar gold pieces that is going to be?"

"Nah, Jess haven't given it much thought, how many?"

"Give me a piece of paper. Let's see; we started with sixty bars of gold. Gold is measured in troy ounces. Each bar is about 400 troy ounces. So 400 troy ounces of gold at $21.00 an ounce is roughly $8,400 per bar, and we have sixty bars so that will give us over half a million dollars or 25,200 double-eagle gold coins. Say ten thousand dollars a bag will give us five hundred gold pieces per bag, or about fifty-four bags."

"Humm," said Charlie jokingly, "only fifty-four bags huh?"

"Yeah, give or take a few," said Jesse.

"Hush, enough about that troy ounce stuff what does sixty bars of gold really weigh?"

"Alright, Charlie. A bar of gold weights thirty pounds, times sixty bars that is about eighteen hundred pounds."

"Geez," exclaimed Charlie, "that is almost one ton. One ton of gold, wow. If we convert that much gold into double-eagles, I do not care how many we get we are still going to have almost a ton of twenty-dollar gold pieces. How are we going to carry all that gold across the whole state of Georgia, Hank?"

Hank explains to Charlie and Jesse that General Sherman's journal entries start in Atlanta and head eastward toward Savannah. The first town he enters is Milledgeville, "I suggest this is the place where we will start," said Hank. "And we will carry the gold in a mule-drawn wagon. Pulled by four mules.

RAM'S HORNS TO GOLD

That night as they sit around the supper table, the boys get into a heated discussion over what to do with the golden ram's horns. Jesse wants to melt them down and pour the gold back into thirty-pound brick-size blocks. Hank disagrees, so does Charlie. Their argument is, who cares, gold is gold. The bankers in San Antone are not going to care if the gold is in bars or shaped like ram's horns. They will test the horns to see if the gold is real. They will then weigh the four horns and convert the total weight into double-eagles. Eventually, Hank and Charlie win out; they will leave the gold molded into the ram's horns.

For the next few days, the boys construct a scaffold at the Jericho Gate. This hoist is required to allow the removal of the gold ram's horns. Each horn weighs four-hundred fifty pounds, and there are four of them. Once the four gold ram's horns are safely in the back of the wagon, they place the wooden ram's horns on the Jericho Gate. Standing back admiring the gate, Charlie comments, "Looks natural, does it not?"

THE 1st NATIONAL BANK OF SAN ANTONIO

Hank steps from their wagon in front of the 1st National Bank of Texas, San Antonio Branch. Black Magic, Lil Sue, and Beau are tied to the tailgate. He looks up at the two huge glass doors and hesitates for a second before going into the marble-floored building.

Upon entering Hank said to a young man working at one of the cashier cages, "Excuse me."

"Yes sir, how may I be of service?"

"Would it be possible to speak with the bank manager?"

"That would be Mr. Franks?" Responds the clerk.

"Yes, Mr. Franks, if he is the bank manager."

The clerk leads Hank to an office with large embossed gold lettering on the door that reads: 'MANAGER.' The young man softly knocks twice, slightly opens the door and in a hushed tone announces, "Mr. Franks, there is a gentleman here that requests to speak with you."

Once inside the manager's office, Hank is offered a cushioned chair, and from behind his large mahogany desk Mr. Franks lights a cigar, offers one to Hank who declines, and asks how he may be of service.

After introductions, Hank speaks, "Sir, my brothers and I have driven from our Jericho Ranch with some gold bullion that we would like to cash into double-eagles. Would your bank do that for my two brothers and me?"

"Why, of course, Mr. Scarburg, how much gold bullion do you have?"

"Eighteen hundred pounds, Sir."

"I'm sorry young man. My hearing isn't as good as it used to be, I thought you said eighteen hundred pounds."

"Yes, eighteen hundred pounds. That should be the correct amount."

Mr. Franks did not move. Stunned he sat with his hands folded on his desk, "Eighteen hundred pounds? Eighteen hundred pounds?" He mumbled. "Where do you have such a large amount of gold?" Again mumbling, "Eighteen hundred pounds! Are you sure?"

"Yes, that is the amount, it's outside your bank in my wagon if you want to see it."

Bewildered, all Mr. Franks could utter was, "Outside...outside in a wagon?"

Hank walks to the door, opens it and turns back to Mr. Franks who remains at his desk, "Sir, let's go outside to my wagon."

Standing at the wagon, Mr. Franks stares at four large ram's horns painted brilliant white, and two large, empty wooden chests. "Where is the gold, Mr. Scarburg?"

"You're looking at it. The four white ram's horns, they are solid gold. We painted them in an attempt to disguise them, but they are gold alright."

Opening the front bank door, Mr. Franks yells, "Get Mr. Anderson out here, immediately. Bring the feed weighing scales and six of our strongest men."

Turning to Hank, Jesse, and Charlie, "Mr. Anderson is our official government assayer and determines the purity and quality of gold bullion and gold ore."

Mr. Anderson arrives, looks at the four ram horns and grunts, indicating his snobbish disapproval. He removes his pocket knife and chips a sliver of white paint. Seeing the shiny gold color underneath, he removes a shaving of the 24 Karat gold from each horn, he bites each one with his teeth and quickly rushes back inside the bank, leaving everyone standing amazed with their mouths open wide.

The Scarburgs stay at the wagon creating small talk with Mr. Franks and the six brutes he brought outside. "While we're waiting, Mr. Franks why not have your six good men weight our horns on your feed scales. You'll be that far ahead when Mr. Anderson returns with his good news."

"I like your optimistic outlook, Mr. Scarburg, fine, go ahead men weight the ram's horns."

The six young men finish weighing the four ram's horns. After totaling the four figures one of the bank men announces, "Mr. Franks, the weight is exactly eighteen hundred pounds."

"Eighteen hundred pounds, no that cannot be right. Weigh them again."

Before the men could complete the second round of checking the weight of the ram's horns, Mr. Anderson races out from the bank breathing heavily, "Mr. Franks, it's...it's..."

"Spit it out, Mr. Anderson, what did you find?"

"Real, Sir, real twenty-four Karat pure gold...pure twenty-four Karat, Mr. Franks. These horns are solid gold. There is no mistake."

"Mr. Franks we re-weighed the horns, still eighteen hundred pounds."

Mr. Franks removes his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wipes the beads of sweat from his forehead, "So you want to exchange these four ram's horns for double-eagles. Do you all realize how many twenty-dollar gold pieces that will be?"

"No, Mr. Franks, we made an educated guess and believed it to be a lot, but we know that end of the business is your specialty. Will you help us?"

"Of course, Mr. Scarburg, we will gladly exchange your bullion for double-eagles. But there are two stipulations: first, there will be a 3% surcharge to convert this bullion to good usable double- eagles, and second, we will have to send to the Dallas First National to get the bulk of the coins. We definitely do not keep that much gold coin on hand. We can telegraph instructions to their bank, but the mere bulk of this transaction will mean the coins will need to be shipped back to Austin by armored train."

"Sir, Mr. Franks, there is no potential loss, what-so-ever, to your bank. Our transaction is a sweet deal to your institution, so 3% seems a bit steep I suggest we do business at 1%, deal or no deal?"

"I might drop to 2%, but we need to make a little money."

"Last offer - 1-1/2%, take it or leave it or we'll find another bank and thank you for your time."

Rubbing his chin, "You got me, okay, you got a deal. Guys take those horns inside, and we'll determine how many double-eagles we owe you. One small problem fellows, it's going to take a while to get this many double-eagles. You guys will need to get hotel accommodations here in town, until we can get the gold coins from Dallas. And another problem might arise, Dallas may not have enough double-eagles either, they might need to have gold coins shipped to them by train from places like St. Louis or even Chicago or Detroit. Be patient, go over to the Biltmore Hotel, eat and drink like kings, you can afford it, and wait for my notification. It might be as short as a few days or as long as a couple of weeks." Shaking hands with Hank, Jesse, and Charlie, he turns to go back into the bank.

"Excuse me, Mr. Franks, are you not forgetting something?" Hank inquires.

"Forgetting? Forgetting something, I don't think so, what do you suppose I have overlooked?"

"My receipt, I need an official receipt from the First National Bank for eighteen hundred pounds of pure 24 Karat gold bullion. It's not that we don't trust you...it's...it's...yeah it is, Mr. Franks, but one ton of gold is a lot of money."

Charlie interjected, "From the San Antone Branch!"

Handing Hank a signed receipt for the gold, "Thanks, Mr. Franks, which way to the Biltmore? And please call us when the double-eagles arrive."

THREE WEEKS LATER

It took longer than expected for the banks to round up enough twenty-dollar gold pieces to exchange for the ram's horns, but three weeks later a messenger arrives at the Biltmore.

The courier knocks on the suite's door, "Message for the Scarburgs."

"Yes, my good man," replies Jesse opening the door. "I am Jesse Scarburg, what is the message?"

"The First National Bank has your order ready for pickup. At your convenience, of course, Sir."

"Here's a silver dollar, thanks, tell Mr. Franks to have our order prepared, we are leaving immediately."

At the bank, Mr. Franks and the same large bank employees are standing on the sidewalk. However, this time the bank employees are each armed with a twelve gauge shotgun standing guard over four sturdy, four-wheel metal carts with stacks and stacks of grey-canvas, bank money bags.

One bank employee hands a bag of money to another standing at the edge of the sidewalk; he passes the sack to a man at the tailgate of the wagon, who gives the poke to the last man who places the canvas sack of coins in one of the two wooden chests.

After an arduous few minutes of loading, the two chests are full. "There you go, gentlemen, fifty bags of double-eagles. Each bag contains $10,000 or 500 coins. The bank has already extracted its surcharge, along with the surcharges to the other banks, just sign our receipt and gentlemen the gold coins are yours and you shall be ready to go."

LEAVING SAN ANTONIO

Arriving at the train depot, Hank speaks to Jesse, "Jess go inside and see the clerk. Obtain an entire cattle car for us, stocked with hay and water. We will load the wagon with the two wooden chests, the four mules, and the three horses, Black Magic, Lil Sue and Beau. The three of us will sleep on the hay in the cattle car. That way we can keep an eye on our gold.

ON THEIR WAY

Two hours later they are aboard the freight train headed to Dallas. "Say," asks Charlie, lying on a pile of hay at the front of the cattle car, "tell me again, Hank how is this trip going to take place."

For the next hour, Hank explains how they are taking the train to Dallas, then from Big D to New Orleans. At New Orleans, they will change trains and get one bound for Mobile, Alabama. They have a slight layover at Mobile, enough time to get the horses and mules off the train and let them exercise around for a bit, then from Mobile to Atlanta. At Atlanta, they will offload all their belongings and hitch up the wagon and mules for the trip to Milledgeville, Georgia.'

"How far is that Hank?"

"About a hundred miles or so from Atlanta."

"How long before we get there? And what does the journal say we need to do?" Charlie asks.

Hank tells Charlie and Jesse, it will probably take them five or six days to get to Milledgeville. When they get there, they are to find if the town still has the St. Stephen's Episcopal Church. During Sherman's March through Georgia, the town of Milledgeville was spared the torch, but the Yankee troops poured sorghum and molasses down the pipes of the church's organ, ruining it.

First stop, they will repay the church for the destroyed organ.

Unloading their wagon, equipment, and animals at the depot in Atlanta Charlie said to Hank, "Know what, Hank? I am very excited to begin the first phase of General Sherman's March."

"Yeah, me too, Charlie. Let's get the mules hitched to the wagons and get on our way to Milledgeville."

"How far to that Mill...Mille...place Hank?"

"You need to start writing this stuff down, Charlie, I've already told you Milledgeville is about a hundred miles a little southeast of here, on a straight shot to Savannah. Should be there in five or six days."

"Aw, Hank, I am just asking," replies Charlie.

Chapter Thirty-Two

MILLEDGEVILLE, GEORGIA

"Charlie just ahead is Milledgeville. You've been asking every day, 'Are we there yet?' Fittingly, you are here now. Ride on ahead and find one of the local citizens and find if they still have a St. Stephen's Episcopal Church."

Hank slaps the reins against the flanks of the four mules, "Giddy up, mules, hurry up. We got places to go and things to do."

A while later they see a rider approaching, Hank and Jesse readily recognize Charlie's beautiful little pinto Lil Sue. "What did you find out, Charlie? Is the church still here?"

"It sure is, Hank, it is right on the corner about half a mile up the road. The minister in charge is Father O'Conner."

Tying the mules to the church's hitching rail, Hank and Jesse walk up the narrow stone path to the little, white church with a tall, spectacular steeple and bell tower. Charlie remains to guard the gold coins in the wagon. Hank arrives at the two front doors first, "What should I do, Jesse, knock?"

"Nah, just open the door. People don't usually knock at the door of a church."

Inside, the church is unlit and dark. Its only illumination comes from sunlight beaming in through the beautiful, stained glass windows. The smell is of old books, mold and a faint hint of incense, "Yes," said a voice from the area of the pulpit, "Can I help you, gentlemen?"

"Oh, we're sorry. Didn't see you up there, Father."

"I'm Father O'Conner; we usually do not have visitors coming into the sanctuary on a Tuesday this early in the morning. Can I be of service to you all."

"Father, we want to ask you just one question: do you have an organ?"

"Organ? No we do not have an organ. Forty years ago we had a magnificent pipe organ, sitting right here." Pointing to a spot in the corner of the room, "But that Yankee Sherman and his men decided we didn't need an organ and ruined it by pouring molasses down the pipes, but we are a small church with a small membership and cannot afford a new organ. Why do you ask? Do you fellers sell pipe organs? If so, we are truly the church which coined the phrase, 'poor as a church mouse,' we have no additional funds to buy anything much less an organ, I'm sorry. We barely have enough money to buy lamp oil for Sunday morning and evening services."

"No reason to be sorry Father, how much do you think it would take to buy a new pipe organ?"

"Oh, my son, buy a new organ? Why that would be impossible. But, to answer your question, it would take at least two thousand dollars to buy one."

"Will two thousand dollars buy a top of the line pipe organ or is this an entry level one?"

"Oh, top of the line? That would take at least four thousand dollars, I am curious why are you fellers asking all these organ questions?"

Walking toward the front of the church so he could see Father O'Conner more clearly, Hank tells him their Grandpa was in the southern army and he wanted to do something to help the people of Georgia. He had fought against General Sherman but was sorry he could not stop his army from all the pillaging and destruction that the Yankees caused. None of this was truthful, at least they did not know what the actual truth was, but the truth was not that important at this very moment.

Hank reaches toward Jesse who gives him one full bag of double-eagles. He hands the bag containing ten thousand dollars to Father O'Connor. "Now, Father buy your congregation that new pipe organ and use the rest to keep your oil lamps supplied with oil for years to come."

Father O'Connor accepts the heavy, canvas bag. Opens it and sees the shiny gold coins. "Goodness my sons, what is this?"

"Yankee money, Father to replace the organ the Army of General Sherman destroyed during the War. Enjoy your new organ."

With this gesture, Hank turns and along with Jesse walk out of the church.

They are standing at the wagon, Charlie looks around the town of Milledgeville, "You know guys, this is a pretty nice little town. I am glad I got to see it with you two. Hank you said when Sherman marched out, he burned the county courthouse with all the county and state records."

"Charlie, you're right, this 'nice little town' was the capital of Georgia until after the Civil War. In 1868 the seat of democracy moved from Milledgeville to Atlanta. I believe we need to go to the courthouse and see the Probate Judge.

Inside the courthouse, the two men from Texas find the office with the door labeled 'Probate Judge.' Hank and Jesse are each carrying a bag of coins in each hand. Again Charlie is left outside to guard the wagon.

A pretty, young woman behind the counter asks, "May I help you, gentlemen?" She said with a bright smile.

"Yes, ma'am, would it be possible to see the Probate Judge for a moment?"

"Follow me, gentlemen, and I will show you to his office."

Knocking on the Judge's office, she tells him there are a couple of men that would like to see him.

"Come in gentlemen, have a seat. I see you two must be new to these parts? I seem to know, or at least recognize most everyone in Baldwin County. What can I do for you men?"

"Sir," said Hank, "It's nothing you can do for us, but something we would like to do for you. Not exactly for you, but for the people of Baldwin County. What would you say is your greatest need at this time. Something that your town would like but your county does not have the funds to fulfill that requirement?"

"Give me a second, let me think." The Judge said, rubbing his chin, "I suppose we have been trying to rebuild the library for years. When General Sherman pulled out, he burned all the towns municipal buildings, including the library. For decades we have been trying to raise money to build and replenish our fine old town's library, but we never seem to be able to find the funds. Why is this important to you fellows?"

"Our grandfather too was an old soldier of the south in the Great War. At the time Grandpa could do nothing to help, but now we would like to repay some of the bad done by that Yankee scoundrel General Sherman. Please accept this token from our Grandfather as recompense for Sherman's misdeeds." Hank and Jesse place the four bags of coins on the Judge's desk. Part of the coins in one bag spill out onto the desk exposing the shiny gold double-eagles.

The Judge sits in silence, his mouth agape, he is speechless, "What...what...?"

"Say nothing, Sir, the money is for your town. Use it as you please. You have a new library lying right there on your desk. There are forty thousand dollars in these bags, use it with our blessings. " Hank and Jesse get up from their chairs and walk out.

"Now we need to move on to Millen."

MILLEN, GEORGIA

"How far to the next town? And who are we going to look for, Hank?"

"It's the town of Millen, and it's about eighty miles, or less than a week's travel, Charlie. We are going to the plantation of a man named, Jeremiah Leake. Leading into town, we will cross Buckhead Creek, and Mr. Leake's plantation was off to the right, just off Winthrop Avenue. We're going to see how his family is making out now, that is if there are any family members still around."

A few days later, Jesse, Hank, and Charlie pass over Buckhead Creek and turn right off Winthrop Avenue onto Leake Lane. This pathway is wide and bordering along each side from Winthrop are one after another hundred-year-old tulip poplars. Magnificent trees at least seventy-five feet in height and with canopies spanning forty or more feet. At the end of this beautiful tree lined lane once stood the grand plantation house, in December 1864, but now, at the end of this gravel lane all the Scarburgs can see are four red brick chimneys and six single, Corinthian columns that are still intact. There is no plantation house, if fact, there is no house at all.

They are not discouraged, "Gee, there Boss, Gee, Maggie, Joe, Billy, come on giddy-up you old mules."

Charlie is riding on the wagon with Hank, and he asks, "Where is the house, Hank?"

"I suppose Sherman burned the plantation house as his army came through this area. We can see, it has never been rebuilt. Let's drive on down to the end of this lane and see if we can figure out what happened."

At the end of the rows of grand poplars, all that remains of the old plantation house are charred rubble and burnt remains. Shrubs and weeds now grow up through all the blackened debris. It appears no one even took the time or effort to clean up the shambles after the Yankees pulled out, almost forty years ago.

Off to their left is a small wooden house. A house that has seen better days. The outside is clapboard and tarpaper that has not seen a paintbrush in years. The porch has planks missing, and others are so rotten to walk on will be hazardous. One front window has, what appears to be, the seat of a wooden chair nailed over it. The roof is hole filled, corrugated, sheet iron, and it seems all that stops the rain from leaking inside is the rust. At the side of the house is the remains of a vegetable garden and a rickety, wooden fence with one skin and bones thin milk cow. Hank looks at the forlorn scene and thinks, 'If a poor, backward, impoverished place with an Appalachia look is what someone is looking for, this is the place.'

"Hank," Charlie said looking at this extremely, poverty-stricken home, "what are we doing here?"

"Charlie, look at this place. This place IS the reason we are here. These people are crying for help, and we are here to give this relief to them."

Jesse rides Beau up closer to the front door, "Hello? Hello, is anyone home? Hello! If anyone is in there, we need to talk to you."

The front door opens just a few inches, "Yer fellers from the government? I ain't speakin' to no government men."

Jesse explains to the woman standing at the door they are not from the government but are here to ask her a few questions about the old Leake plantation. He assures her they are not here to cause her or her family harm of any kind.

She hesitantly opens the door and steps out onto the porch. Three little children shyly follow her, hanging onto her dress tail.

"What is it y'all say y'all want? I'm not fixin' to talk to no government men, I done told your other government men I ain't fixin' to sell my place neither. This place done belonged to my grandpappy, and he left it to me, me, Annie Coleman. I ain't got no place to go, so you git off my property."

"Mrs. Coleman, my name is Jesse Scarburg, my two brothers and I are here all the way from Texas. You have heard of Texas, haven't you?" The woman nods. "Good, we have been following the path of that Civil War General William Tecumseh Sherman. Trying to assess the destruction he caused. We don't have any interest in trying to buy you out of your place, and we're not from the government."

"Don't yer mention that son-of-a-bitch, Sherman. He's the one that is responsible fer that pile of ashes over yonder. He burned that house with my grandpappy still inside."

"The Yanks killed your grandpa?"

"Nah, he got his self out of the house alright, but them Damn Yankees ate, killed or burned ever thang as fer as yer can see. Don't speak to me no more about that Yankee Sherman."

"Ma'am, was your grandpappy Jeremiah Leake?"

This statement drew the woman's interest. She and her three children step from the porch onto a large stone which takes the place of front steps, "Shore he wuz, ever body in these parts knowed of Grandpappy Leake. How'd yer come about knowing my grandpappy? Atter them Damn Yankees burnt him out; he never was no more good according to my grand mammy. He had nothing to rebuild with, nothing to farm with, and nothing to look forward to. They all moved into this here foreman's house to live fer a long spell. They say all he would do was set on the front porch dipping his snuff, spitting in the yard, and talking about the old days. He'd talk long and hard even when there weren't no one around to listen to him. A few years atter the War he walked out down by the creek yonder and blowed his brains out. Poor ole feller. Never knowed him, but it was all 'cause of them Damn Yankees. He had over eighteen-hundred acres 'fore the War; now there's only this spot of dirt we're livin' on and that pile of ashes over yonder is alls that's left. Grandpappy Leake and his family on down had to sell off the land to put taters on the table. Damn Yankees! I'd shore like to fix grandpappy's plantation back like it wuz. I's got one of them photographs in the house that shows pappy's purty white house, would you like to see it?"

"No, that's not necessary, Mrs. Coleman, we didn't know your grandpappy, but is your husband around?"

"Nah, he done went and got hisself kilt."

Looking down at her children she shook her head and told Jesse about the death of her husband. "Oh, I see, killed a couple of years ago, I'm sorry. Now as I said earlier, we are calculating the damage General Sher...., sorry, that damn Yankee general did during the War. And in some ways, we're trying to right some wrongs. So you say your grandpappy had eighteen-hundred acres before the War now you only have the land you're living on, that's a loss of eight-hundred acres. And he had a nice, beautiful, plantation house, farm animals and loss of income. I'd say pricing the land at forty dollars an acre will be about seventy-two thousand dollars, the house another seventy-eight thousand dollars and maybe ten-thousand dollars for the animals and loss of income." Turning back to the wagon, "Hank pull the wagon up near the porch. Charlie open up one of those wooden chests and get out sixteen bags."

Charlie opens one of the chests removes sixteen bank bags and stacks them on the rickety porch. "Here you go Mrs. Coleman, sixteen sacks of sad memories erased."

"As I said ma'am, me and my two brothers are from Texas. We're here trying to help the best we can." Handing her one bank sack, "Here, this bank poke along with all the others are for you. Use them for anything your heart desires. I wish, Mrs. Coleman, you might use that photograph of your grandpappy's old plantation and rebuild it. It would look beautiful sitting here at the end of your poplar-lined lane."

"Mrs. Coleman," said Charlie, "you ought to take Jesse up on that suggestion and rebuild that old plantation house, why you have already got the beginning - you already have the four chimneys, and six big ole white, porch columns. After rebuilding the house, you should have plenty to live on comfortably for the rest of your life."

"I don't know what you alls talking about...once our family was one of the finest in this here county, now we ain't got two nickels to rub together. How you 'spect we gonna rebuild Grandpappy's place when we just barely got enough food to put on the table to feed these here three children?"

"That might have been the way it used to be, but you haven't seen the contents of those bags on your porch. I suspect you might ought to take a peek."

The lady picks up one of the heavy bags, opens it and exclaims, "Why! This here is gold U.S. dollars, and a bunch of 'em too. Is they stole? I ain't takin' no stole money."

"Not exactly Mrs. Coleman, they are real, and they are yours to keep. Thank you for talking with us, we'll be moving on now." Looking over his shoulder, "Send us a photograph to Jericho ranch, San Antone, Texas when you get the new house built."

Jesse, tips his hat, mounts Beau and the three turn back onto the poplar-lined lane returning to Winthrop Avenue.

EDEN, GEORGIA

Once again the three Scarburgs are back on the trail of Sherman's March through Georgia, heading east to Savannah. Along their way about sixty miles east of Millen is the burg of Eden, Georgia.

Hank explains to Charlie, "At Eden, Sherman's Army marches boldly into that small hamlet. The only industries or businesses of importance were the local cotton gin owned by the Whitaker brothers and a major depot of the Central Railroad. Sherman was determined to destroy both, and his army succeeded. The rail depot and station has long been repaired and replaced, but what happened to the Whitaker brothers after the loss of the cotton gin? Charlie that is what we will do in Eden, we're going to find out."

Driving their wagon down the narrow street of the small main road of Eden, Hank pulls to the side of the road. "Excuse me, Sir," he beckons to an elderly looking bearded gentleman. "May I ask you a question, Sir, if it's no bother?"

From the curb, the old man, using his cane, makes his way to the side of the wagon. "Certainly young man. How can I be of service."

"Sir, we are from Texas. The Lone Star State, and we are seeking relatives of the Whitaker brothers. Relatives of the Whitakers that owned the cotton gin that dastardly Yankee William Tecumseh Sherman burned during his ride through Georgia during the late War."

"The Whitakers? Why young feller, my father worked for the Whitakers before the War. Sure, I know about the Whitaker cotton gin, most of the people in town either worked at the railroad station or for the Whitakers at the cotton gin."

"May I enquire if any of the Whitakers still live in this area?"

"No, the Yankees set fire to the cotton gin, and after the War, the Whitakers left town, they had no money to rebuild. Where they went, I do not recall. I believe they moved out west, possible they might have been one of your neighbors in Texas."

Laughing, "Nah, I know all our local ranchers and the Whitakers are none of them. Is it possible that any Whitaker relatives still live in these parts?"

"You know, now that you mention it, there is one cousin left. Matt Whitaker works at the blacksmith shop."

"How can we find that shop?"

"Turn right off Main Street at the next intersection, a few hundred feet, and you'll see the blacksmith shop on your left."

After thanking the gentleman, Hank urges the mules onward. In a few minutes, they stop the mules in front of the Eden Blacksmith Shop. A young man walks through the open door of the shop, "Yes folks, what can we do for you?"

"We're looking for a Mr. Whitaker. Someone told us he works here."

"Mr. Whitaker, you say?" Good-naturedly he responded, "you would have found my father a few years back, but now you have found his son Matthew Whitaker, how can I help you? Most people call me Matt."

"Matt," asks Jesse, "did your family once own a cotton gin?"

"No, I don't think we ever had a cotton gin. Who told you that?"

Jesse continues, "It would have been during the Civil War. It was said that General Sherman marched his Yankee Army through Eden and burned your grandfather's cotton gin to the ground."

"Hold on a second, you know seems like I remember one of the family talking about Grandpa owning a cotton gin back then, but that was over forty years ago. I had plumb forgotten about it. After the War, most of the family moved out west."

"What about the rest of your family? Are there any others living in Eden?"

"No, just me. My Ma and Pa are both dead, and I am an only child, sorry it's just me. Why do you ask?"

"My two brothers and I are on a mission. My grandfather was a soldier of that War and would support our effort to try, in some small way, to try to alleviate the suffering that General Sherman's Army caused during his March through Georgia. Matt, we want to repay your family for the cotton gin the Yankees destroyed. Do you have any idea what your grandpa's cotton gin was worth?"

"Worth? Why just until now I had forgotten our family even owned a cotton gin, Sir, I have no idea of its worth."

"Charlie, Hank, what do you say to ten bags."

"Sounds about right to me," replies Hank.

"Yeah, that should do it, I think." Charlie agrees.

"You have a cart in your shop?" Asks Jesse.

"Sure, there's a two-wheeler right here by the door."

"Wheel it out to the back of the wagon, if you don't mind."

Matt stands watching as Hank hands a bag of coins to Charlie, and Charlie stacks them on Matt's cart. Bag after bag is transferred from the wooden chests to the cart one hundred thousand dollars' worth, or ten bags full of twenty dollar gold pieces.

"Whoa, what are you fellers doing. How much money is in these bags? And why are you giving them to me?"

"Matt, your cart holds one hundred thousand dollars, and it is money from the Yankees to repay you for the burning of your grandfather's cotton gin. Build another gin, spend it on wine, women, and song, or just waste it if you wish. The Yanks don't care; it is your money, have a good time with it.

"Giddy up Boss, giddy up Maggie, come-on Joe, Billy," Hank exclaims to the four mules pulling the wagon.

"Wait! Wait!" Matt yells as the wagon turns to travel back to Main Street. "This isn't right! Wait! Wait!"

Without replying to Matt's frantic pleas, Jesse nudges Beau with his spurs, "Enjoy your fortune, Matt. It is now your money. Good day."

Chapter Thirty-Three

OH, SUSANNA

Sitting on the wagon seat with Hank, "You know," said Charlie, "I knew this was going to be a good adventure. But you know, I never thought giving money away would make a person feel so good. Where are we headed to now, Hank?"

"Charlie, General Sherman's journal has entries for small towns and destruction all the way to Savannah. We could choose from a number of places, but I have a better idea if you and Jesse agree."

"I am game, what have you got in mind Hank?"

"I say, we don't go looking for any particular place, we simply free search the road ahead and on both sides for anything that seems interesting. When we see it, we will know it, and we'll stop and see what we can do for the folks we find."

"I'm in," replies Jesse. "We still about nine thousand five hundred double-eagles left, or nearly one hundred ninety thousand dollars. I believe we can still help someone out, no problem."

"Sounds good, both of you keep your eyes peeled for anything or anyone that looks inviting. It's only a two-day ride before we enter Savannah, so we need to find a target soon."

Nothing looks appealing along the route all that day. At daybreak, the following morning Jesse, Hank, and Charlie already are on the move. "Boys, today is the day, we hit Savanna by sundown and Savannah wasn't torched by Sherman's Army. We have to find something between where we're at now and the city limits of that big, ole sea town of Savannah."

No sooner had Hank explained about needing to find someone, he sees up ahead on the right of the road a community of down and out Negroes. There are dozens of tarpaper covered houses if that is what one could call them, shacks really, but little kids are running around playing in the yards, so someone is living in these shanties.

"Right there!" Hank said pointing to the decrepit assortment of shacks. "That's the place alright. Get that money ready Charlie; I do believe we have found people who need our help."

Hank guided the mules into the very center of the shamble of huts. Wasn't but one pig-trail through the avenue of human suffering. Hank stops the wagon, climbs upon the seat and with a loud voice proclaims, "Folks, who can hear my voice, I would like to speak to the oldest person who lives here. Hear me; I want to talk to your oldest person."

From behind one of the huts an old Negro man, white beard down past his chin, hobbling along on a rickety old walking stick, "Young feller, is you looking fer the oldest Negro or the purtiest one, that don't make no never mind, I's both. What does yer young fellers want with a bunch of us old colored folks?"

Hank steps from the wagon, walks to the old gentlemen, sticks out his hand and said, "Howdy, Sir, my name is Hank Scarburg. We want to talk to the oldest person here."

The old Negro grabs Hank's hand and replies, "Sir, I is Thomas Jefferson. Most of 'em jest call me Uncle Tom. If my Mamma tolds me correctly, I's be hundred-two my burfday. Nows, yer got to understand, I wuz born a slave, and there wern't no kept records showing 'xactally when I wuz birthed, regardless, I ain't gonna miss hundred-two too much."

"It doesn't matter when you were born Uncle Tom, you're old enough to remember when General Sherman came through this area during the Great War, aren't you?"

"Why my boy, jest if it were yesterday. Yes siree sir, do I ever. I was plenty old back then to 'member most ever thang them Yanks did do and did say."

"Tell us the stories, Uncle Tom."

For another hour or so, Uncle Tom told story after story of Sherman's Army. He told how most of the slaves thought the coming of the Union soldiers was foretold in the Bible, how the slaves would be set free. Continuing, said old Uncle Tom, those Union boys did set us free, but free to do what? He said when the Army told them they did not have to work on the plantations anymore, most of the Negroes fell in behind the Army and marched along with them, thinking the road to freedom was with the Yankee soldiers.

Uncle Tom said there were hundreds and hundreds of slaves following the blue coats until one day they came to a broad, swift-flowing creek. The Army build a floating bridge to get across, he said the slaves were to be the last to cross. Once the last of the soldier boys got across the creek, one of them blue-bellies took an ax and chopped the lines holding the bridge. Uncle Tom said it floated down the stream in pieces, a bunch of the Negro slaves jumped into the water to try following the Army and many of them drown. He said most of the people living in this community the Texas boys see here are descendants of those poor souls. A lot of them in fact are those same hapless freed slaves. Uncle Tom said they went from one form of enslavement to another form.

Hank, Jesse, and Charlie were speechless. Hank spoke first, "Uncle Tom that is one of the saddest stories I've ever heard, and we are terribly sorry for the hurt and misery you folks have endured for these past forty or so years. I'll tell you what we are going to do - Uncle Tom, if you'll have everyone living in these...these...houses get in line, we have a gift for them."

"A gift sez you? Why would you fellers give us a gift?"

"Right now Uncle Tom, line them up, and don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

"Yer gonna give us a horse fer a gift, why does we have to look in its mouth?"

"Geez, Uncle Tom, could you please have your folks line up."

At last, the old Negro pleaded with the folks, and they formed a long line down the road from the wagon. As each black person passed the wagon, Jesse handed five double eagles to each one of them. At first, the people getting the money were laughing, they thought the money wasn't real, a couple even threw the gold pieces back at Jesse. He picked them up and handed them to the next person. It did not take the people very long to discover the double-eagles were real, and each of them was getting one hundred dollars in gold. One hundred dollars, none of them has ever seen just one double-eagle much less five of them all at one time. For the next three hours, person after person pass by the wagon, and are one hundred dollars richer. Charlie figures more than nine hundred people got their gold coins or ninety thousand dollars were distributed to the hordes of black folks.

During all this time Uncle Tom sits on the tailgate of the wagon, smoking an ole corncob pipe. When the last person passes the wagon, he said to the boys from Texas, "Young fellers, if these ole hundred-year-old eyes hadn't witnessed this, I'd never have believed it. I's not near what somebody would call educated, but I done learnt me one big word in my hundred year old life, and I ain't never had much call to use it, but today I is: that word is heartened. Youse Texas boys done heartened this here bunch of black folks with all of them gold double-eagles. These folks was just poor down and out colored folks 'fore y'all come, now they is rich not only in money, but rich in spirit too. What can we say, you have changed the lives of so many people. Thank you, thank you from the bottom of my ole black heart."

"Uncle Tom, all hearts, of both black and white folks, are the same color, and you don't owe us any thanks, this was our mission, and we accomplished it in grand style. If anyone ever asks where the money came from just say the money came from three ole boys from Texas trying to right a wrong committed many years ago by that Yankee scoundrel William Tecumseh Sherman."

SAVANNAH

Back on the road to Savannah Hank asks Charlie to figure out how much money remains. Charlie replies, "I know exactly how much money is left Hank, I have been keeping up with it."

"Alright, smarty, how much is left."

"We have a little over one-hundred thousand dollars left or five-thousand double-eagles. Who are we going to give them to Hank?"

"Brothers I have another idea."

"Go on we're listening." Replies Jesse.

"We keep the rest." Exclaims Hank.

"Why, brother," said Charlie, "I have never thought you would say such a thing!"

"Hold on, Charlie; you didn't let me finish. Of course, we need to use some of it to get us home, we may have been doing God's work, but God is not going to pay for our cattle car from Savannah to San Antone, Texas. Doing charity work is a glorious thing, but I don't believe God intended us to pay for everything."

"Hank, that makes sense, but that sure ain't gonna take one hundred thousand dollars."

"No, of course not, I suggest when we get home, with the remainder of the hundred thousand dollars we set up a trust fund to help educate..."

"Educate who, Hank?" Jesse said.

"Educate Charlie's people."

"What you mean? My people, I am your people, Hank Scarburg."

"You know what I mean, Charlie, the Comanche people and maybe the Apache. You may be Coe-manch by blood, but above all, you are still our brother," grinning he adds, "and if you don't scalp us we're always gonna love you."

GOING HOME

"Hank, I know I have been a nuisance since we left home. Asking all the time how far to go or how far we have come. I am sorry for all that Hank, but you know I have never been anywhere and all this is exciting."

"Ah, don't worry about it, Charlie, everything is fine."

"Say, Hank, one more thing. How far is it to Savannah?" Grins Charlie.

Hank was laughing so hard he couldn't answer right away. "Charlie we stayed so long passing out that money to those poor people, it will now be tomorrow before we reach Savannah, then we'll board the train back to San Antone. Don't ask, Charlie, it's a little over twelve hundred miles to Texas, and I don't know how many days it'll take either. I don't know how fast the train runs, nor how many stops it makes, nor how many train changes we will have to make. Any more questions about our itinerary, Charlie? If you do, I'm all out of answers; I don't know anymore."

Chapter Thirty-Four

GOVERNOR OF NEW YORK

At the same time the Scarburg men are retracing General Sherman's March through Georgia one of the New York Republican bosses approaches Teddy Roosevelt with the proposal for him to run for Governor.

Roosevelt gives this some thought and decides to throw his hat into the race and begins to develop strategies to win the head job in Albany. He also remembers the promise he made to his ex-Regimental Adjutant Hank Scarburg. Teddy requests his acting Chief of Staff Thomas Platt send Hank a telegram asking if he will take the position of Chief of Staff.

A couple of days later Theodore Roosevelt's telegram arrives at Jericho, their foreman signs for it. He thinks long and hard before allowing the Western Union boy to return to town, should he open the telegram, read it and send back a reply, or should he put the telegram aside and await the boys return. He decides to open and read the message:

HANK CAMPAIGN IS ON. STOP. JOB STILL YOURS. STOP. RETURN ANSWER. STOP.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT

% ESQUIRE HOTEL

ALBANY, NEW YORK

Handing the telegraph boy some coins, the foreman said, "Send this answer: 'Hank Scarburg out of town, will respond upon his return' and sign it 'Nicky James, Foreman Jericho Ranch, San Antonio, Texas.' "That's all. Thanks, get that response off as soon as you can."

Chapter Thirty-Five

NAWLINS, LOUISIANA

Hank, lying on his horse blanket in a soft pile of fresh hay turns to Charlie. "You remember the last time we stopped as we were going to Cuba?"

"Yes, seems like years ago. We let all the horses off to graze and piss in that big ole green pasture. Man, I do believe those ponies could not have gone another mile without wetting those cattle car floors. Why is it, Hank those horses will not do their business while locked up on the train?"

"I don't know, Charlie, must have something to do with the moving of the train. You know, horses are funny animals."

"Maybe they do not like to pee with all the other horses looking at them. Come to think of it, I do not either."

"Could be, Charlie, could be," laughed Hank and Jesse. "Speaking of horses doing their business, let's get Black Magic, Lil Sue, and Beau off the train and let them do their thing. I think they would probably like to run off a little energy in this big pasture too. Keep an eye on them, there is a lot of open pasture out there."

The three brothers remain by the cattle car watching the three horses romp and kick up their heels in the pasture. The horses are having a good time. It is obvious; they do not like being locked in the cattle car.

The engineer pulls on the whistle and sounds off with two loud blasts, "Looks like their fun is over, that's the man saying we need to load the horses back on the train."

"Say, Hank, isn't that one of the railroad men walking down the track toward us?"

Looking up, Hank answers, "Yeah, it's getting a little dark, but he's one of the workers, I suppose he is gonna tell us to get our horses back in their rail car."

"Hey, fellers we have finished taking on water and coal so we'll be heading out in a few minutes." The railroad man said.

"Sorry," Jesse said. "We didn't mean to hold you up. We were giving our ponies a chance to let off a little steam."

"No, no, that not why I came down here. Which one of you is Haskell Scarburg?"

"That would be me. Why, Sir?"

Reaching into the bib of his grey and blue striped overalls he withdraws an envelope. Handing the piece of paper to Hank he comments, "The clerk at the station received this a day or two ago, been waiting for you fellers to come through."

Hank opens the envelope and reads the same message that had been delivered to his foreman at the Jericho ranch earlier.

"What is it, Hank? And who would know we are on this train?"

"Oh, the telegram is from Mr. Roosevelt, offering me the job on his campaign for the Governor of New York."

"How in the world did he know where we are?"

"I sent him a message before we left Savannah telling him we are returning home. I told him which train and our route. Roosevelt is a pretty smart man, so it wouldn't have taken him much time to figure where we were going to be in a day or two."

They load the horses, and the boys lie down on the hay again. Jesse and Charlie look at Hank.

"What? What are you two up too? You want me to say something? Alright, yes, I believe after we get back to Jericho and get everything settled, I think I will take the Colonel up on his job offer."

"We want you to stay on the ranch with Jesse and me. Besides, Hank, you do not even own a suit of clothes."

"Yeah, I know, Charlie, but it's like the old saying, 'After you've seen Paree."

"Now, Hank, you know I do not know what that means, but I believe you are saying going to work for Colonel Roosevelt is something that you have to do, right?"

"Thank you, Charlie; you could not have summed it up more succinctly."

"I do not know what that means either, but I will accept the 'thank you.'"

UNDER ARREST

The train makes the first lunge, then begins the 'chug,' 'chug' of the steam hissing as it starts to gain speed, suddenly the brakes are applied hard. "What the...," said Charlie.

Outside a whistle starts to blow, then another, the sliding door on their cattle car is abruptly unlatched and begins to slide open. Someone outside sticks the double barrels of a twelve gauge shotgun inside. "You three on yer feet! Git yerselves outside."

Jesse, Hank, and Charlie do as the shotgun-wielding gunman requests. Once outside standing on the ground, the Scarburg boys see the man with the shotgun has a silver star on his chest, he is a policeman. Standing next to him is another police officer.

"Officers," asks Jesse, "what seems to be the trouble?"

"Ve are Officer Boudreaux and Officer Bouchard. We've had a complaint that the hosses of you'rn could be stolen. Especially that tan and white pinto."

"Hey," replied Charlie, "if a tan and white pinto like Lil Sue is stolen, then it must have been her mother, and that is possible since she belonged to an Indian, but not my Lil Sue because I have had my baby for over ten years now."

Poking Charlie in the ribs with the shotgun the cop said, "Git them hosses off 'ah this here train car. We're taking them as evidence."

"Now wait just a minute..." Jesse said, before being slapped beside the head with a nightstick by the other policemen.

"Shut, yer mouth. Yer fellers can tell it to da judge."

Blood trickles down Jesse's forehead into his eye, but he responds, "How can our horses be stolen, we're from Texas and have owned these three ponies for years."

"Yer, got proof of that?"

"No, of course not on us, but it won't be hard to telegraph back to Jericho and have our foreman send papers proving our ownership."

"Then, shut up, git that ramp and unload that evidence. You, three desperadoes, is headed to Nawlin's finest jailhouse."

As the three Scarburg boys begin placing the loading ramp against the cattle car Jesse slips up close to Hank and whispers, "Hank get back on this car and send the ponies out, about the time Beau walks out send Lil Sue next, slightly open the far side door and slip out as Black Magic comes out. He is so beautiful these two galoots will be watching him and not paying attention to you."

The three horses are on the ground, but only two of the Texas boys, "Hey, where's dat third one," asks the policeman. Yelling into the boxcar, "Hey you, git yerself out here." It was then he notices the rear door is slightly ajar. "Come see Officer Boudreaux dis third coonass done slipped out da back door."

Officer Boudreaux stands guarding Jesse and Charlie, "Git yerselve up in there and find him, yer know da Capitan will have our ass if we done gone and lost one of dees horse thievers."

Officer Bouchard is so overweight; he finds it hard to climb the ramp into the cattle car. Once inside he yells back to Boudreaux, "Dis coonass done gone and escaped. He not here, I not gonna run off atter him. Tells the Capitan he's not nowhere to be found."

ALEXANDRA

Hank quickly slips away from the cattle car and hides behind, what he thinks is an empty, train car a couple of tracks over. As he crouches down behind the car, a female voice said from above him on the platform at the rear, "Say, you think you're hidden well enough?"

Looking up, "Sorry, I hope I am, it's the federales they have arresting my two brothers and are now looking for me. They think we are horse thieves."

"You mean the Police? Are you horse thieves?"

"Of course not! They think my brother Charlie's pinto is stolen, and they took my horse Black Magic, and my other brother Jesse's horse Beau along as evidence. We've owned these horses since they were colts."

"Where you boys from?"

"Texas - Jericho Ranch just northwest of San Antone."

"Oh, yeah, I've heard of Jericho - my Dad is mayor of San Antonio."

"So you're from San Antone?"

"Yes I sure am, my name is Alexandra Anastasia Stone, my Daddy is Benjamin Franklin Stone."

"Nice to see a friendly face, Miss Stone, my name is Haskell Scarburg, but I go by Hank. As I said earlier, my two brothers being hauled off to the calaboose are Jesse and Charlie."

"I believe you aren't a horse thief, so why don't you come inside our private car." The car includes a full kitchen, dining room, staterooms, secretary's office, an observation deck, and servant's quarters. "It will be fine; I'm not alone in here, our maid, the two cooks, and father's secretary John are all inside. I'll have the cook prepare you a cup of tea."

"I'd love to, Miss Stone, but first I have some items to retrieve from our cattle car after the police leave with Jesse and Charlie."

JAILHOUSE

"What 'ya boys got here?" Asks the Booking Sergeant at the Central Police Station.

"Couple of horse thieves. Caught them ridin' on the train getting ready to skip outta town."

"Who made the complaint?"

"Captain Thibodeaux at East Station. Said the pinto, belongs to him." In fact, what has happened if the truth be known, Captain Thibodeaux of the East New Orleans police station had been in the vicinity of the large grassy pasture as Black Magic, Lil Sue and Beau were exercising. He noticed the beautiful tan and white spotted pinto. He concocted the plan to arrest the cowboys as horse thieves, and then he could confiscate the pinto for himself.

As far as the fate of the cowboys - they are to be killed trying to escape, if not, he'll send them up to Angola. Angola, Louisiana's infamous state prison, where many men go, but few ever return. Or as some call it the 'Alcatraz of the South' or 'The Farm' "At any rate them boys won't be coming back from there." Thibodeaux has said.

"Captain Thibodeaux's complaint, you say, huh? Take 'em down and throw 'em in the Catacombs," said the Booking Sergeant. The Catacombs are a miserable set of damp, cold, rock-walled cells located in the basement. They are only used for the most belligerent or dangerous criminals. The upstairs jail cells are for the regular run of the day ne'er do wells, the drunks, jaywalkers, bail jumpers, and prostitutes.

Being placed in the lower cells indicates Jesse and Charlie are considered 'special' prisoners. In fact, if one of their Captains make a collar, no matter the charge, the prisoners will be given the special treatment. None of the regular run-of-the-mill policemen ever wants to get on the wrong side of one of their Captains.

Lying on the wet, stone floor, Jesse turns to Charlie, "Brother, are you okay? Did those apes hurt you very badly?

"I am fine, Jess, just skinned up a bit. What do you suppose happened to Hank?"

"I don't know, but I'm glad he's not in here with us. He surely must have gotten away."

BACK AT ALEX'S RAILCAR

Breathing hard Hank hauls the wooden chest upon the rear observation platform and into Alexandra's rail car. "So, all you wanted from that cattle car you were riding in is this old wooden trunk? You fellows must have some nice clothes."

"No, that isn't it at all, I've got Jesse, Charlie, and my tack, you know, our saddles and gear piled up on the rear platform of your car."

Pointing toward the rear door, jovially she said, "Cowboy, go drag your saddles inside, those policemen will be searching through here pretty soon. If I'm going to hide you, I sure don't want a bunch of saddles tipping them off."

Moving the saddles inside Hank looks at Alexandra, "Miss Stone, you don't know how much I appreciate you giving me a helping hand. For sure, without your help, I would be in jail right now."

"Think nothing of it, and the name is Alexandra, but my friends call me Alex. May I get you a cup of tea?"

"Tea sounds fine, Alex, but I believe I need a little 'medicine' to calm down my nerves. Could I have some Irish coffee instead of tea?"

"Sure, Hank, John, my father's secretary, doubles as our bartender," speaking to John at his desk, "What brands of whiskey do we have to spike up Hank's coffee into Irish coffee?"

John does not look up from the papers on which he is working and replies, "Jim Beam, Old Forester, Wild Turkey, Jack Daniels..."

Interrupting, "That's fine Sir, that's enough, I'm not much of a drinker, so any of those you mentioned will do, thanks."

As Hank and Alex sit talking, she is concerned about Hank's two brothers. "Hank, Father, is in a meeting with his financial advisor, maybe he will have some idea how we can get your two brothers out of jail once he returns."

All the time Alex is talking Hank is not hearing a word she is saying; he is captivated by her beauty. Her long, flowing black hair glimmers in the light as she turns her head. He watches her emerald green eyes twinkle as the light dances off of them. Her unblemished skin so smooth it compliments her pert, ruby red lips. "Hank? Hank, are you listening? You act as though your mind is elsewhere."

"No... no, I was just thinking... thinking, yes... yes... thinking of Jesse and Charlie."

The rear door of the car slowly opens and Alex's father Benjamin Stone enters. Hank gets up, extends his hand and introduces himself to Mr. Stone. He sits with Mr. Stone long enough to convince him that he and his two brothers are not horse thieves.

Mr. Stone explains to Hank his only contact in New Orleans is the president of a local investment firm, but he will be glad to see if his investment banker might have some influence in the local police department. He leaves with the promise of returning as soon as possible.

Meanwhile, Hank and Alex are getting on smoothly. The longer they talk, the more Hank is being mesmerized by this lovely creature. Hank is on his fourth or fifth cup of coffee. Each cup with less and less coffee and more and more alcohol. By the time Mr. Stone returns the 'medicine' in the coffee has done its job. Alex's father explains his financial advisor will do all he can to help the Scarburg brother's, but Mr. Stone does not have much hope that he will be successful. As Mr. Stone talks Hank's head slowly sinks lower and lower onto one of the settee arms. Soon Hank has passed out.

An hour goes by, and Hank begins to stir and he becomes alert once again. The alcohol is starting to wear off, and Hank suddenly realizes where he is. "Oh, I'm sorry Sir, I must have been exhausted when I arrived."

"It's all right, Son, I was just saying Mr. Prescott, my financial advisor does not think there is much he can do to relieve your two brothers from their current situation."

"Thank you, Sir, for trying, maybe I can think of a way to get them out of their desperate situation."

A KILLING IN THE CATACOMBS

Jesse and Charlie are cold, damp and hungry. They have been sitting in this wet basement jail cell, for what seems like hours.

The cell door opens with a grinding squeak and in walks a gruff, bearded guard with his belly protruding over his belt. "What you was doing with dem hosses last night?" All the time he is questioning Jesse he is slapping his hand with his intimidating nightstick.

"What are you talking about," answers Jesse. "We were on a train hundreds of miles from here. We were bedded down in a cattle car."

"Vat you take of me for, a fool? I knows you two birds done stole Captain Thibodeaux's pinto pony hoss, and he's gettin' it back, and he wants you coonasses to suffer for done stealing his favorite ride."

Charlie is getting up from the floor as another shadow darkens the steel, cell door. When he steps into the light Charlie can see he is another New Orleans' policeman, but his uniform is sharper, more distinguished looking, brass buttons and all, and he's wearing a tie.

The man in the doorway is Captain Thibodeaux, "Who thinks he didn't steal my beautiful tan and white pinto?" Captain Thibodeaux, stands arrogantly in the room looking at Charlie and Jesse. He is a short, dark-skinned man, a Cajun. He has a very thick and bushy mustache which ends two inches below his lower jaw. His eyes are a sinister looking black pair of dots, set deep within sockets that peer out like a cat getting ready to pounce on a mouse. Apparently, being short he must be suffering from the Napoleon Complex. A personality complex that consists of false machismo to make up for short height and feeling of inferiority.

Charlie stands tall in front of the police captain. "You talking about my Lil Sue? She has never been owned by anyone except me. She for sure has never belonged to you. What do they say down here, you...you...coonass, she will never belong to you."

Captain Thibodeaux slaps Charlie across the face and hits him again with a baton he holds in his hand. Charlie falls to the floor where the Captain kicks him in the side, over and over. He beats Charlie until he is unconscious. The other two deputies are restraining Jesse in the meantime.

The deputies grab Charlie by each arm. "Unhand him," yells Jesse. The two big men, followed by the Captain, pull Charlie from the cell and slam the door. Jesse beats on the solid, metal, door, "Let him go! Where ya'll carrying him? Talk to me, let him go."

Jesse stops pounding on the door and begins pacing the twelve-foot by twelve-foot cell. Suddenly he hears a gunshot, then another. "No, no," he screams running to the door. "You bastards, you-son-of-a-bitch bastards, let me out of here, and I'll kill you with my bare hands."

THE PLAN

Mr. Stone speaks to Hank still lying on the sofa. "Mr. Scarburg, I'm sorry I didn't have any help for your two brothers. If we had been in San Antonio, it would be a different story."

"Sir, I appreciate your effort, but I have come up with a little plan of my own. Can I ask you a question?"

"Absolutely, go ahead."

"I know from seeing your private railroad car, and all its refinements, you might have a way to attach wires to the telegraph lines and send and receive telegrams, is this right?"

Mr. Stone replies that his secretary John can connect to the telegraph lines outside the train and send and receive messages. Hank scribbles a note and asks if John could send this message initiating the first part of his plan.

Hank and John sit outside on the ground beside the train. John has attached his telegraph wire to the existing wires strung between the telegraph poles and his clicking on the 'key' establishes contact with the Western Union operator down the line. Hank hands John his written message and John slowly and deliberately sends the Morse coded signal to the next operator who will, in turn, forward it on to its destination. The question remains: to whom is Hank sending the telegram?

Back inside the train's stateroom, Hank does not reveal his plan. He and his brother's saddles, along with the wooden chest are still lying close to the car's rear door. Alex, who has taken a liking to Hank also, softly asks if Hank would like to ride with them to San Antonio in their private car. She said he will be more comfortable, and they have plenty of room, and she adds - would like his company on the long trip.

"Thank you, Alex, on a different day and under other circumstances, I would love to travel with you...and...your father, of course, to San Antone, but I cannot leave my two brothers in the hands of these crooked New Orleans policemen. There is no telling what they will do with our horses, especially Lil Sue. That police Captain is determined to get her."

"Yes, of course, I understand. What about your plan? Will it work to get them out?"

"Alex, I pray it will, but, to my brothers and me we might as well be in a foreign country. We have nothing with which to gain the upper hand on this corrupt police force. Just keep your fingers crossed."

"Mr. Scarburg, I've taken the liberty and talked with the train's conductor. He is sending for a horse and buggy for your saddles and gear, and that wooden chest. I tried to move it for you, but it was so heavy," laughing he said, "What do you have in there, gold?"

"Yes, Mr. Stone, that is exactly what is in the chest, gold."

"Of course," Mr. Stone said, "why sure it's gold. Why would I think otherwise." He said mocking Hank.

Hank walks over to the wooden chest, unlatches the two hasps and opens the lid. He reaches inside and removes a ten-thousand dollar bag of double-eagles, unties the bag and dumps the contents on the table. Gold coins cover the table and a few fall to the floor, "Yes, Mr. Stone, gold? And there are nine more bags just like this one. Each bag contains ten-thousand dollars of double-eagles."

"Why! Why! I'm astounded."

"I know, Mr. Stone, if you and Alex will come over here and take a seat on the settee, I will explain about the gold. We have to wait for an answer to my telegram anyway so I will tell you the story of the gold."

For the next hour or so Hank tells, in detail, how they got the gold, he explains about the pistoleros, he didn't even leave out the part where they follow the outlaws into Mexico and kill all of them. He tells about Roscoe P. Ledbetter and his Poppa Scarburg and the Yankee gold, and how they decided to cross Georgia and how they have given the gold away to families that had suffered during the Civil War. He ends his story with the approximately one-hundred thousand dollars that remain in the chest sitting at the rear door. Hank explains they have decided to use the remaining money to open a fund to help Indian children get an education, and that is to happen once they get back to San Antone. He then tells them about Charlie, a full blood Comanche, and how he became one of his brothers the day his father found him after the Indian raid in April 1870.

"My what a story, Hank, may I call you Hank? That is quite an adventure. So, you want to take the remaining gold and start an endowment for the use of Indian kids to go to school? What a benevolent idea."

"Yes, Mr. Stone, we hope the money will continue to benefit Indian children for years to come."

"Say, I told you about Mr. Prescott, my financial advisor, didn't I? His firm has departments that specialize in every type of financial transactions. I'm positive they can set up a perpetual endowment that will finance an Indian school fund that will last for years. In fact, with the interest it will accumulate yearly, the original stake will probably never be touched. If you are interested, I can have him set it up for you."

"My, oh my, yes! That will be great."

Seeing the conductor, "Earlier I asked you for a wagon and driver you can cancel that. If I might ask you to send a runner to the Mr. Prescott at the New Orleans Financial Group and have him send a driver, a wagon and a couple of guards down here to the train and pick up this wooden chest for Hank and his friend's endowment fund." Shaking Hank's hand, "Don't worry about a thing now, Hank, my bank will take care of everything. Your Indian lads will get their education. My what a wonderful idea. I will have them call it the 'Scarburg Educational Fund,' how does that sound?"

"Sounds fine, Mr. Stone, but there were more than my two brothers, and I involved, people like Joe and Margarita, Tomas, James, Jose, Alvin, Mamacita, and the ranch hands that died, they all are responsible for this Indian fund we are about to start. Let's call it the 'Jericho Educational Fund,' and that will cover them all."

Picking up a few hundred dollars of twenty-dollar gold pieces, Hank said, "If I don't hear from my telegraph message within the hour, I'm going down to the jailhouse and see if I can bribe my two brothers out of jail. I know money talks, and it talks no louder than right here in New Orleans."

Sipping black coffee, Hank looks at his Poppa's watch, over an hour has passed with no response from the Telegraph. John is still outside sitting on a stool waiting for an answer.

"I've given them plenty of time to respond. I'm taking this pile of gold coins and my trusty ole .44, and I'm going to get my brothers, one way or another." Turning to Mr. Stone, "Sir, I thank you for believing in my brothers and me, I'm sorry you could not help, but that was not your fault. I suggest you get on your way to San Antone as soon as the folks from your bank arrive and remove this wooden chest of gold. You don't need to be here when I get to the jailhouse. I believe things are going to turn unpleasant, but before I go, I again want to thank you for setting up our Indian fund. One favor I would like to ask, Mr. Stone."

Hank explains if for reasons he and his brothers do not get out of jail, and there is a distinct possibility that they could be killed outright, would Mr. Stone set up and administer the endowment for the Indian kids? Mr. Stone agrees to maintain the money for the Indian children's education.

Hank turns and steps to Alex, and takes her hand, "And to you, Alex, I thank you for sheltering me from the Police. Without your help, I would probably be sitting in that jailhouse with Jesse and Charlie. With your father's permission, I would like to call on you, if that would be okay, once, and if, I get back home to Jericho and you to San Antone."

"Why Hank I am a grown woman, I can answer for myself."

"Yes, that you are, Alex, I am just trying to be polite,"

"Of course, my boy," said Mr. Stone, "you are welcome at our home anytime. The address is 100 Mayors Drive; it's just off the main square in downtown San Antonio. Our street is just two blocks past the Alamo."

Hank takes Alex's hand and softly kisses it's back. While looking into her green eyes he winks, "I'll see you soon...you both soon."

"Yes," said Alexandra, "I will be looking forward to your visit."

Stepping into the wagon outside he thinks to himself, 'I ain't never kissed a woman's hand. I bet she thought I was the biggest fool she ever saw!'

Alex backs away from the door and gently rubs the hand Hank just kissed. She glances at the wagon pulling away from the train and coyly smiles.
Chapter Thirty-Six

THE ESCAPE

As he leaves Alexandra's private train car, Hank is studying how he is going to break into the jail and rescue his two brothers. He inventories his weapons; he has his .44 pistol - six shots; another .44 he got out of Jesse's saddlebags - six shots; his Winchester rifle .44-40 - 15 shots. Hank knows he will have to be fast; there is no way to know how many police officers will be in the station. He plans to shoot as many as he can, before being shot himself.

JESSE WILL FIGHT

Jesse is sitting on the floor watching as he hears the sound of a key turning in the steel door. Jesse is ready. He is going to put up such a fight that these federales will have to kill him right in this cell. He's determined not to be dragged out back and murdered like Charlie.

Yes, this is Jesse's strategy as the rugged, steel door to his cell begins to open. 'They killed Charlie, but I'll not go willingly to my slaughter,' schemes Jesse. 'If I am to die, it will be right here; I'll not help these murderers one bit.' He has already been searching around his cell looking for any weapon he can use, but the chamber is empty, no chair, no bed, not even a kerosene lamp. Jesse did; however, dig a sizable stone from one of the walls. It is a piece of rock about the size of the palm of his hand. It isn't big, but maybe he can get a lick or two in before being killed and his bloody, body disposed of by the New Orleans police department.

The screeching, lockup door opens. Again there stands a shadow of a man, unrecognizable in the dark. This figure is larger than the s.o.b. that came for Charlie. Who is he? This man is not Captain Thibodeaux, no matter thinks Jesse, 'I'll try to kill whoever it is!'

Jesse draws his hand back, the one with the rock, "Come on in you bastard, I'm ready for you." Jesse mutters under his breath.

A voice at the door asks, "Mr. Scarburg? Are you Jesse Scarburg?"

Jesse relaxes the grip on the stone. "Yes, I am Jesse Scarburg. Who are you?"

"Oh, sorry, forgive my manners. Sir, my name is André LeBlanc."

"I'm sorry," replies Jesse, "I do not recognize your name, Sir, should I?"

"No, no, I'm sure you have never heard of me - I am Mayor André LeBlanc, I am the mayor of New Orleans. I have come to set you free, young man." Turning to one of the guards, "Turn this man loose, he is free to go."

"No, Mayor LeBlanc," replies Jesse. "I cannot go - these men killed my brother, Charlie, I cannot go until I see you mete out justice for him. You must arrest them for murdering my brother! I insist you have them arrested, place them in irons, try 'em then hang 'em, Sir."

"Come, Son, come outside with me, and I will explain."

FREEDOM

Jesse and Mayor LeBlanc plod up the stairs to the first floor, and out the front door. Once outside Jesse discovers a big surprise. A surprise that almost gives him a cardiac arrest - sitting in a wagon on the street is Hank and beside him sits an unharmed Charlie. Black Magic, Lil Sue, and Beau are tied to the wagon's tailgate.

Jesse is overwrought. He can do nothing but fall on his knees and put his face into his hands. He looks up, "How can this be? How can this be happening? Am I dreaming?"

Mayor LeBlanc places his hand on Jesse's shoulder. "Get up my boy; you are not dreaming. Go with your brothers, and I offer my sincerest apologies for the way you and your brothers have been treated in my Crescent City. I assure you will have no more trouble while you are in my town. The Mayor removes a piece of paper and pen from his jacket and begins to write a note. Take this slip of paper. It is my guarantee the police will not bother you while you are in Nawlins. I realize you boys have missed your train to San Antonio, so I have my special personal train waiting for your arrival at the railyard, go load your ponies and get on home - bon voyage." The mayor looks up at Hank sitting on the wagon seat, "Bon voyage, to you too, Sir, it was an honor, 'Cowboy'."

Riding back to the train station Jesse so shaken he is unable to speak, he said finally, "How? How did you pull this off, Hank? And what did the Mayor mean calling you 'Cowboy'?"

"I'll explain that later but right now I want tell the story from the time I jumped from the cattle car to seeing Alexandra, meeting her father Benjamin Stone, how Mr. Stone's secretary tapped into the telegraph line and most importantly how Mr. Stone's financial institution is going to create the endowment fund for the Indians.

"Now, just hold on a minute I think you're leaving out a few important parts," said Jesse. "For instance to whom did you send the telegram."

"Oh, no one special, just Theodore Roosevelt."

"Theodore Roosevelt, yeah, and what did he do."

"Not much, he sent a telegram to the mayor of New Orleans. You see the Mayor was one of the Captains in 'D' for Delta Company with me and Charlie in Cuba. He was a Rough Rider too. I had never met him, since he was promoted from a Lieutenant of 2nd Platoon to the Commander of "D" for Delta Company. His promotion was due to "D" Company's Company Commander getting killed during our charge up Kettle Hill."

"Well I'll be," remarks Jesse. Sometime that old saying 'about it being a small world' comes true every now and then doesn't it? Let's get back to the railroad depot and get on home."

"Not yet, I have a stop to make."

KIDNAPPED!

The wagon moves street after street before coming to Canal Street. "Keep your eyes peeled for house 604."

"What's so special about 604 Canal Street, Hank."

"Nothing, except that is the house where Captain Thibodeaux lives."

"Captain Thibodeaux, yeah, he is the one that nearly beat me to death in that jailhouse basement. And he is the one that said Lil Sue belonged to him, and we stole her. What are we going to do, Hank?"

"We're going to kidnap his ass and carry him with us."

"Are we going to kill him, Hank."

"Maybe, you just wait, you'll see what we are going to do with him."

Tying their horse and wagon to the hitching rail, they silently slip up the brick sidewalk and ascend the steps upon Captain Thibodeaux's porch. Hank slowly tiptoes across the planks, opens the screen door and taps on the brass, door knocker a couple of times. The Captain comes to the door sees Hank through the peephole, but does not recognize him, and opens the front door. Immediately Hank thrusts his .44 under the Captain's chin. "Good to see you, Captain, oh, you don't know me, huh? Maybe you remember my two brothers." Jesse and Charlie step from the shadows so the Captain can make out who they are. "Oh, Charlie there owns Lil Sue, that pretty tan and white pinto, who I believe you said belongs to you. This Colt .44 stuck in your gullet will assure you, she doesn't. First, you shouldn't have lied and said she was stolen. Second, you almost beat my brother Charlie to death. Captain, you are not a nice person and need to be taught a lesson about acting nice to people. We three Texas boys are going to be your teachers."

From inside the house, his wife asks, "Honey, who's at the door?"

"Tell her, just business; you'll be right back." Looking at the Captain and winking, "The business I've got in mind, you won't be coming back real soon though."

They lead the Captain to the wagon, put him in back with both his hands and feet securely tied with a length of rope. A kerchief covers his mouth. To hide him, they throw a saddle blanket over the rest of his body.

Hank turns the wagon around and heads toward the railyard. At the gate leading to the trains, the New Orleans police department has stationed two guards, a Sergeant, and a Corporal. Stopping the wagon the Sergeant positions himself on the driver's side, the Corporal is on the passenger's side. The Sergeant talking to Hank exclaims loudly, "Halt! We've got orders to arrest some horse thieves that done stole Captain Thibodeaux's pinto pony."

Understandably, thought Hank, the word has yet to spread to the outreaches of the city that Mayor LeBlanc has already released and pardoned the 'horse thieves' from the city jail. "Say," said Hank. "What did that pinto horse look like?"

"They sez it was tan and white spotted."

"Kinda like the one we got tied to the tailgate?"

"Yeah, I suppose, might 'ah looked like that 'en."

"Who'd they say the pinto was stolen from?"

"Word was it belonged to Captain Thibodeaux."

"Do y'all know this Captain Thibodeaux?"

"Why shore, he's our Captain on the East Side."

Hank reaches over the seat and jerks the horse blanket from Captain Thibodeaux lying in the bed of the wagon. The Captain is grunting and squirming around like a trussed up hog.

"Does this man look like your Captain?"

Seeing their captain all bound up in the wagon, "Yeah, that's our Captain," they say raising their rifles to their shoulders getting ready to shoot.

"Hold on just a minute. Can either of you two Cajuns read." Both nod they can, "Then take a gander at this piece of paper before you go and do something that you are going to regret."

The Sergeant standing close to Hank takes the slip of paper and reads Mayor LeBlanc's pardon and proclamation that the three brothers are not to be challenged, arrested or delayed without severe penalty from the Mayor.

"Lower dat rifle Corporal," commands the Sergeant. Addressing Hank, "Youse men is done free to go."

"But...but...Sergeant," said the Corporal, "dat's Captain Thibodeaux all trussed up like a hog in back of dis here wagon."

"Done be on your way gents, sorry we has bothered you, and we bid you a good day." Said the Sergeant tipping the brim of his hat.

"But Sarge...but...dat's the Capitan all tied up there in that wagon," stammered the Corporal.

"Shut yer mouth up Corporal! I sees nothing...and neither does you."

Hank slaps the long, leather reins sharply against the mule's flanks and heads toward the cluster of train tracks in the rail yard. The mayor had said his private train is sitting on track ten, but Hank is not interested in the mayor's cars, not just yet. He wants to see Alexandra once again, and Mr. Stone's train is on track seventeen. The wagon bumps over the rail tracks roughly. "Hey," asks Charlie, "where are we going anyways?"

"Looking for track seventeen, Charlie."

"I thought the mayor said his train was on track ten, did I hear him wrong?"

"Nah, you heard him right, Charlie, but Alex's train is on number seventeen."

"Alex? Alex is the Alexandra you've been talking about, I suppose?"

As the wagon bumps along the rails in the railroad yard, Hank continues to explain his accidental meeting with Alexandra and her father, Benjamin. "Without their help," Hank said, "both Jesse and you would still be in jail." He further mentions he would like to see her...them before they pull out to San Antone.

"Why sure, Hank," said Jesse, "I'd like to see 'em, and shake their hands too."

The wagon arrives at track seventeen, but there is no train sitting on the rails. The train has long gone on its way to San Antonio. Hank sits in the wagon looking down the empty train track leading out of the city, 'Oh, well,' he thinks, 'I'll see her again soon. San Antone is not that far from Jericho.'

Sitting in the dark railyard, they are startled by the nickering of a horse hiding in the shadows. Pulling his .44 Hank yells, "Who's there? Show yourself, or we will fire."

A wagon emerges from the darkness, sitting in the driver's seat are two men, Mr. Prescott, and his driver. The two guards that Mr. Stone's bank sent stand in the back.

"Advance closer and state your business."

"Sorry, to startle you, gentlemen. You are the Scarburgs, I presume, are you not? I am Mr. Prescott, and we represent the New Orleans Financial Group, and are here to make our services available to pick up a wooden chest of valuables in the form of gold dollars from one Mr. Benjamin Stone. As I understand it, the funds therein are to be used to start an educational fund for the Aboriginal children of our plains; however, instead of depositing the money in our bank here in New Orleans, my superiors think it best that it be deposited in the 1st National Bank of San Antonio. The 1st National is a branch bank owned by the said Mr. Benjamin Stone. In that capacity, the money will be closer to you, the Scarburgs, and you can keep a closer eye on its management."

"Yes, Mr. Prescott, Mr. Stone mentioned your bank, but never revealed to us he owned the bank in San Antone. I'm sorry I missed his train, did he leave any instructions?"

"No, not much details for you, but in my wagon, I have a heavy wooden chest, three saddles, and all your other gear. Mr. Stone, said for us to wait, and guard the chest until you blokes arrive. We have done as Mr. Stone asked, Sirs, the contents of this wagon is yours. Thank you, gentlemen, our obligation is complete, we bid you adieu."

Chapter Thirty-Seven

TRAIN TO MIDWAY

Charlie lies on one of the club car's settees. His boots propped up on one arm, his head rests on the other. He is smoking one of the biggest cigars Hank has ever seen. "Charlie, get your boots off that settee, were you raised in a barn? What do you think Mama would say?"

"Nah, Hank, if I was, it was the same barn as you, with the same Mama as you, thank you." Removing his feet from the settee arm to the floor, "You are right, Hank, that is being disrespectful to Mama, she would not allow no such as this, I am sorry, it will not happen again."

Looking across the club car, "Hey, tell that Captain feller to get his boots off of that settee he is lying on. What does he think, he was raised in a barn?"

Hearing his name mentioned Captain Thibodeaux sits upright. "You knows what yer doin' is kidnappin' and that's a hangin' offense. I'm gonna personal see to it that they stretch youse necks from the nearest tree. I done gone and made this a special outrage against me, a person of the law."

"Hank, Jesse, is he right? Are we going to hang for hijacking him out of New Orleans?"

"Yeah, Charlie, under normal circumstances I believe the Captain would be correct, we'd be swinging from a live oak tree, but this is not a normal situation."

"Kidnappin' is kidnappin', and hangin' is hangin' I tell you. There ain't nothing normal about it. Y'all just wait and see, I'm a Captain in the Nawlins police, I'll take care of you three."

"I believe you are forgetting something, my good Captain."

"I ain't fergettin' nothin'; I'm gonna see you three swingin' from the end of a rope for kidnappin' me right out of my house on Canal Street. And I want to know what you fellers done got in that heavy wooden chest, I done believe you must be some kind of outlaws, bank robbers or some kind of no good scoundrels. If it weren't fer kidnappin' y'all probable needs your necks stretched for somethin' else anyhow."

Hank removes a slip of paper from his vest pocket, "You forget this little piece of paper, written and signed by the Mayor of New Orleans, Mayor...let me see his name, oh, yeah here it is, signed by Mayor André LeBlanc. You do know him, don't you? I believe he is your boss. I will not read the note word for word; I'll just give you, Captain Thibodeaux, the jest of it: it says no policeman, you are a policeman aren't you Captain? In the city of New Orleans is to bother us, arrest us, and nothing we do will be considered an offense while we are guests of Mayor André LeBlanc of your great city, the Crescent City. Now, I ask you, Captain, you were saying about a hanging?"

Before Captain Thibodeaux can answer the train conductor walks into the club car. "Gentlemen, my name is Mr. Beauchamp, on other trains I would be the conductor, but on the Mayor's special train I am the Official Host. It is my duty to make sure your ride is comfortable, and you are supplied with anything, such as food or drink, you may desire. It is yours merely for the asking. At this time gentlemen, is there anything I may get for you?"

"No, Mr. Beauchamp, but I do have one question - can we stop this train at any point on the track?"

"Certainly, merely tell me, and I will relay your request to the engineer up front in the engine."

The Captain was paying particular attention to this conversation, "What's dat about stoppin' this here train, why you want to do dat?"

"Later Captain, later you will find out."

Hours later the train begins to slow. Mr. Beauchamp enters, "No problem, gentlemen, we are merely stopping for water. We'll be on our way in just a few minutes. May I get you anything?"

"No, thank you, where are we, Mr. Beauchamp?"

"Just leaving Houston heading to San Antonio."

"Could you have the engineer stop the train in a couple of hours. That should put us about halfway between Houston and San Antone am I figuring this right, Mr. Beauchamp? When does the next train come through."

"Yes, Sir, you are right that will put us about one hundred miles to San Antonio, and about one hundred miles out of Houston. The rail line we're using is not commonly used, so there will not be another train through for at least a week. There is not another water stop along this route, and most engines cannot hold enough water to traverse two hundred miles without a fill of water. Our engine has been specially modified to hold more water, so we will not run dry."

"Mr. Beauchamp, would it be possible to grab a bite to eat before reaching the half-way point."

"Certainly, what would you like for the chef to prepare for you gentlemen?"

"How about fixing us three sixteen ounce T-bones, tell the cook to leave 'em with the moo still in 'em."

"What 'bout me, I'm hungry too," said the Captain.

"You dog. Anyone who would lie to steal a horse, don't deserve a steak. You have been yacking about hanging, back where we're from you're right, a man who tries to steal another man's horse, like you tried to do, would be swinging from a rope."

MID-WAY POINT

The three brothers were putting the finish to their T-bones as the train began to slow to a stop. Mr. Beauchamp enters, "Gentlemen, we have arrived at the half-way point as you requested. What do you require the engineer to do now?"

"Nothing, just have him stop and, Sir, tell him when he hears three pistol shots to push the throttle forward to full steam and take us to San Antone."

"What does ya mean 'three pistol shots' you ain't gonna shoot me is you? You know that's be agin the law."

"Not according to your Mayor LeBlanc, it isn't." Said Hank smiling.

The train comes to a complete stop. The boys can hear the steam escaping from the engine up front. Poking Captain Thibodeaux with the barrel of his Winchester, "Get to your feet," demands Hank, "get outside."

Standing on the platform, "What you fellers gonna do whiff me? You not gonna kilt me is you?"

"Nah, we aren't going to kill you. That would be too quick and easy." Hank said cutting the bindings holding the Captain's wrists. "I guess beating and kicking a prisoner gives you a lot of pleasure, Captain this is going to give us a lot of pleasure too. Get your sorry butt off the train and walk back home." Hank said as he kicks the Captain from the train out into the sand of the Texas desert. "New Orleans is that way," Hank said pointing toward the eastern horizon.

"You gonna leave me here with no water and nothin' to eat?"

"No, you're right, that's not neighborly of Texans, here's a canteen of water and half of my un-eaten steak. If you survive, Captain, I want you to remember one thing, not everyone you mistreat like a dog will lie down like a dog, sometimes the dog will get back up and bite you. We three dogs, now say, git," said Hank, flipping a twenty-dollar double eagle to the Captain. "Buy yourself a drink, when and if you can find one."

"But, we's right smack in the middle of the desert, and that sun is boiling hot. I got no horse, only this one canteen of water. How am I to survive?"

"Survive? We don't care one way or the other, that's your problem. We have three horses, plenty of water and we'll think about you every sip we take of it, Captain. We only hope the ice doesn't make our drinks too cold. Trying to steal Charlie's pinto, Lil Sue, huh, that might be the last thing you ever do, Captain Thibodeaux." Hank pulls his .44 from its holster, "I said git or I'm gonna shoot you where you stand."

The Captain walks a few feet into the desert. Hank cocks his pistol, the Captain shuts his eyes and drops to his knees, thinking this is the end, "Please, I beg youse don't kill me. Spare my life, and I'll be a better policeman," as the Captain is talking Hank fires three shots into the air.

"Remember us, Captain, the next time we're in Nawlins. Have a good walk. Be careful with that canteen of water, a hundred miles in this Texas sun is a long stroll."

The engineer pulls the cord to the whistle, and Hank, Jesse, Charlie and the Captain, hear three long blasts and the train begins to move. They stand on the rear platform watching Captain Thibodeaux get smaller and smaller as the train moves away.

Their next stop San Antone, where the Captain is bound is totally unknown, and the three brothers could care less.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

GET 'EM UP

"Jess, Hank, sure feels good to be back in San Antone. We are not quite home yet, but it sure makes me think I am smelling that sweet desert air blowing down from up Jericho way."

"Yeah, Charlie, let's get the wagon with the wooden chest, our gear, the mules and our ponies off of Mayor LeBlanc's train, and get this gold down to the 1st National Bank. I'll be glad to be rid of it." Hank remarks.

"Yeah, I know how you feel," said Jesse.

They have the wagon hitched, Black Magic and Lil Sue roped to the tailgate, Jesse is sitting atop Beau. Hank has the reins in hand when from the train platform, "Good luck gentlemen, it has been a pleasure serving as your host on this trip. Wouldn't have missed it for the world when y'all kicked that New Orleans, sorry that 'Nawlins' big mouth off in the middle of nowhere."

"Almost forgot, what am I thinking. Charlie, grab a couple of those double-eagles out of one of them pokes and give it to Mr. Beauchamp, he's been extremely nice to us this whole trip."

Stepping back upon the wagon, they all wave goodbye to their conductor, and Hank slaps the reins to the mules. Next stop the San Antonio Branch of the 1st National Bank.

Hank ties the mules in front of the bank. Charlie steps into the back of the wagon as Jesse swings his leg over Beau's back and places his boot on the ground.

Hank, as he did weeks earlier looks up at the same two large glass doors of the bank. "Come on fellers, let's go in to see Mr. Franks again. Charlie hand me a couple of bags, Jesse how about grabbing two of them too and I'll go inside and get some bank help toting the rest."

Hank swings open one of the massive door and steps inside, "Get 'em up," a masked bandit said, poking Hank in the temple with the business end of a Colt pistol. "Say one word, and I's gonna blow yer brains all over this here bank."

Jesse is right behind and hears the outlaws request. Hank and Jesse set the bags of gold on the floor and stick their hands in the air as the bank robber demands. Seeing the gold bags on the floor, he tears one open, "Hey, look what we got here." Turning to the other two robbers, "Fellers, these here bags got more gold in 'em than this whole bank, come over here and see fer yerselves."

"Hold on here men, this gold is not ours, it for the use of children to go to school." Argues Hank.

"I ain't never had no learnin' neither, so maybe this is God tellin' you this here gold was meant fer me."

"I'm telling you, fellers, this gold isn't just for the taking, it has a use that will allow poor ignorant children to reach for a goal that without this gold they cannot attain."

"Shut yer lip," the bank robber said, hitting Hank up beside his head with his pistol. "Nuff blabbering!" Blood trickles down Hank's forehead and runs along his cheek. Hank crumbles to the floor and pretends he has been knocked out, hoping he has a chance to get to his gun.

One of the bandits behind the service counter jumps over and rushes to see the bags of gold, "Yer right Slim, these is a bunch more than this old bank has, let's each grab these bags and skedaddle out of here before the law dogs get wind of what we's up to."

Charlie, from the wagon, sees Jesse and Hank raise their hands upon entering the bank; he knows what's up - a bank robbery is in progress. Charlie reaches into Jesse and Hank's gear on the wagon and removes two twelve gauge, double-barreled shotguns, slips two double-ought shells into each of them, and crouches down inside the front of the wagon.

Three saddled horses stand at the hitching rail next to Charlie's wagon; 'Those must belong to the bandits. I hope so, because with my four double-ought shotgun shells, I do not believe they are gonna make it to them hosses.'

The first bandit, loaded down with two bags of gold burst through the door, across the sidewalk, headed straight for his horse. He might have made two steps when Charlie cut loose with the first barrel of the twelve gauge; the bandit went one way and the gold bags another, the second outlaw was exiting the building when Charlie unloaded the second barrel. The force of the buckshot blew this bank robber backward, through the doors into the bank. The third outlaw runs past the second bandit and attempts to make it to his horse, never has a bank robber made a mistake this bad. Charlie shot him at almost point blank range. Even the bank robber's mother would not have recognized him after the double-ought buckshot got through with him.

In the annals of bank robbery, there are good days and bad days to rob banks. This day is one of the worst these desperadoes could have picked.

Fortunately, the bags of gold are delivered to Mr. Franks, and the three Scarburg men once again find themselves in the bank manager's office.

Jesse, Hank, and Charlie sit down again around Mr. Frank's desk. Mr. Franks could not contain himself; he has to ask, "Gentlemen, you left this bank a few weeks ago with fifty bags of gold double-eagles. Today, thankfully, you returned to save the bank from a disastrous financial loss due to that attempted robbery. I'm sure the bank management in New Orleans will be more than willing to reward you for this heroic accomplishment."

"Mr. Franks," said Jesse, "I'm sure I speak for Hank and Charlie, we do not want a reward, and if one is offered, we will not accept it. We only want these last bags of gold coins deposited in your bank and official papers drawn up that will allow a yearly stipend to go to some worthy Indian student in need of financial assistance. Besides, it was Charlie that did all the work stopping the gunmen."

"Hey, it takes a mighty brave man to run into the business end of a twelve-gauge loaded with double-ought buckshot." Charlie said grinning.

WE GAVE IT AWAY

"Gentlemen, the longer you sit here, the more anxious I become, I must know - what happened to the rest of the nearly four-hundred thousand dollars?"

"Simple," replied Hank, "We gave it away."

"Now, wait a minute, Hank, you're forgettin' that gold piece you give to that scoundrel police Captain Thibodeaux when we kicked him off the train, and them two we give to Mr. Beauchamp that worked for the New Orleans mayor."

"Gave it away? To a police captain...a New Orleans Mayor... All...all...of it.?"

"Yep, except what we are giving you now, for the educational fund. However, we did use some for travel expenses."

"All of it?" He said again, bewildered. "You gave all of it away?"

"Mr. Franks, you have heard in the Bible Acts 20:35, 'It is more blessed to give than receive.' Let the three of us say here and now; no more accurate statement has ever been written. We are living testimonies to it.

Since we left your office, Hank, Charlie, and I have given away forty bags of double-eagles. We gave them to a church to buy a pipe organ, to a town to rebuilt their library, piled up a bunch on a porch for a woman to rebuild her grandpa's plantation house, and what about Matt Whitaker who worked at the blacksmith shop to rebuild his grandfather's cotton gin and who would ever forget the look on the faces of over nine-hundred Negroes in a little no-name community in south Georgia that we gave each one five double-eagles."

"Why?" Asks Mr. Franks, "would you all give ninety thousand dollars to a bunch of Nig...uh, black folks?"

"Because they needed it, and we wanted to give the money to them. We will tell you, Mr. Franks; there is no better feeling. We loved every minute of it," and Charlie adds, "they kind of liked it too."

"From now on the money will be safely tucked away here in this bank, it is yours to be drawn upon at any time. You can do with it as you please, spend it, give it away or throw it away, whatever you want to do with it. Notwithstanding the amount being given each year for the education of the Indians."

Chapter Thirty-Nine

HOME

Outside the 1st National Bank, "Jesse, Hank, I believe we are ready to turn these old mules down the trail to Jericho. What do you all say?"

"Right, Charlie, you want to drive the wagon or ride Lil Sue?"

"I am going to saddle up and ride, that way I can beat you two to Jericho."

"You're just going to beat Jesse. I'm gonna throw the saddle on Black Magic and make a surprise visit to Alexandra. I'd like to tell her and Mr. Stone about moving the 'Jericho Educational Fund' from New Orleans to San Antone."

"Yeah, right the 'Jericho Educational Fund,' I am sure she will be real interested in that." Charlie remarks, winking.

DEVASTATING NEWS

Hank enters the Main Square of San Antonio; Mayors Drive veers off to the right past the Alamo. Hank remembers the address as 100 Mayors Drive and thinks Alexandra...and...and...her father's house shouldn't be far.

Hitching Black Magic to the little Negro statue standing next to the front walk. Hank is apprehensive walking up the bricks to the front porch of the antebellum mansion. At the front door, he taps the brass, door knocker. He notices within the oval is engraved 'The Stone Family,' he raps once more. Slowly the door opens, he is greeted by Aunt Sally, a black woman in a starched, smoothly ironed white apron, "Yass sur, mays I help you?"

Slightly taken aback by the servant opening the front door Hank mumbles, "Yeah...yes...I would like to speak with Mayor Stone, please."

"Who does I should say be calling?"

"Huh? Oh, tell him Hank Scarburg from New Orleans...no, say Hank from the Jericho Ranch."

"Step right this way into the parlor Mr. Scarburg, and I's will inform Miss Stone, Mr. Stone is at his town office."

From the parlor, Hank sees Alex coming down the broad, winding, staircase. She is as beautiful as Hank remembered her in New Orleans.

"Hank," Alex said surprised, "how wonderful to see you again, did you just get into town?"

"Yes, Alex a little while ago. Just wanted to tell your father about the 'Jericho Educational Fund' before heading out to Jericho."

Sounding hurt, "You mean you made your call to only speak to my father?"

"Yes..., no...what I mean is I did want to speak to your father about moving the funds from New Orleans to the bank here in San Antone, but, Alex I was only using that as an excuse to see you again."

"I am glad, Hank, I have wished you would find a way to come see me, but, Hank have you had any communication with anyone up Two River's way?"

"No, Alex I haven't spoken with anyone from the Two River's Valley, we just got into town, why?"

"Hank, a couple of days ago a fire started in the upper end of the valley and has already consumed over ten thousand acres of grassland. A number of the ranch houses have burned too. People from all around have gone to help fight the fire."

"Have they got the fire contained?"

"No, not yet, but the bad news, Hank, the valley has not seen much rain in the last couple of months, and the grass is so dry, the fire is raging unabated from the upper valley heading south toward Jericho."

"Thanks, Alex I'll be back, meet me next Thursday at the Saddle Horn Café at five o'clock."

"That will be good, Hank, Father is leaving for a mayor's conference Thursday and will not return until Sunday. We will have the house to ourselves. I'll be at the Café at five o'clock."

HANK RIDES TO SAVE JERICHO

Racing out of town with Black Magic galloping as fast as his strong legs can carry them, Hank is hoping to catch up to Jesse and Charlie. Jesse cannot move very fast in the mule-drawn wagon, and Black Magic is a swift thoroughbred that can cover the ground pretty quickly.

Within the hour Hank catches Jesse. Jumping from Black Magic Hank leaps upon the wagon. "Whoa! Whoa! Hank, where's the fire? What's your big hurry?"

"Fire? Fire? How did you guess? That is exactly the thing Jesse," Hank said excitedly, "I heard in town the Valley is on fire, heading for Jericho. Come on let's get home as fast as possible; we have to save Jericho and the whitefaces and horses."

No sooner than Hank has given the alarm to Jesse up the road they can see a small cloud of dust - it is Charlie charging hard riding toward them. He is a hundred yards away when he begins yelling, "Fire! Fire! The valley is on fire!"

Reining Lil Sue to a sliding halt, breathlessly Charlie announces to Jesse and Hank, "Fellers, I got to that last rise where you can see the Jericho Gate and the rest of the Valley. Boys from up the Valley way all you can see is smoke and fire; I mean an ugly mess of it too."

"Could you see the pastures closest to the main house and barn?"

"Yeah, I could, Jesse, that one section up north towards the fire has all our horses in it, and the gate to the south section remains closed. Those horses cannot get out; some ones got to open that south gate before the fire gets to them."

"You're right, Charlie, and you're looking at 'em, you, me and Hank. Come on let's ride before it's too late."

Charlie was right. Turning in under the Jericho Gate the sky to the north is covered with an ominous looking, white and dark gray nimbus of smoke. The fire is approaching the northern edge of Jericho's land and will soon get into the dried grass where all the ponies are located. If the fire gets to the pasture where the horses skittishly await it will only be a matter of a few minutes until the herd will be hemmed in at the north gate, with nowhere to run to escape.

The whiteface cattle are safe for the moment; they are already in the south pasture. Unless the fire burns through the north grassland, burns the house, barn and gets into the southern fields of Jericho, the whiteface should be safe.

"Charlie," said Hank, "ride to the north gate and get it open, but get out of the way fast, those ponies are scared, and they will stampede through that gate and run you down."

CHARLIE TRIES TO SAVE THE HORSES

"Do not worry, guys, I have got this covered," Charlies yells as he rides off in the direction of the fire.

Hank, looking at the whitefaces in the south pasture, "Jesse, that does not seem like enough cattle, what do you think?"

"You're right, Hank, that's only about half of the herd, reckon where the rest of the cattle are located?"

"Let's ride over to the winter bunkhouse and see if the rest of our wranglers and cattle are over there."

"Good idea, but wait 'till Charlie gets those ponies out of the north meadow."

They watch as Charlie gallops Lil Sue through the dry grass towards the gate separating the north from the south grasslands. Roughly a quarter mile from the gate Charlie is engulfed in the smoke from the fire. He slows for a moment to tie his bandanna across his nose and mouth.

"I don't like this, Hank, that looks bad for Charlie and the horses."

"You're right, Jesse, I'm going to give him another minute, and if I don't see him or the horses come riding out, I'm going up there and see what's going on. I need to help him."

Both Hank and Jesse sit on their horses watching to see if Charlie emerges from the smoke - he doesn't come out.

"I can't wait any longer, Jesse," Hank said reining Black Magic through the barn gate and spurring his horse toward the billowing smoke and flames.

"Wait! Wait! Hank, give him a little more time!" Jesse watches as Hank rushes toward the fire, "Oh, heck, wait on me, here I come too."

HORSE STAMPEDE

Racing across the vast field Hank and Jesse gallop at full speed toward the smoke that has Charlie engulfed. As they reach the outer edge of the blacken obscurity, they begin to yell Charlie's name, but they get no response. Suddenly, they hear hundreds of horse's hoofs beating the ground and running at full gallop coming towards them. They realize Charlie has opened the gate and the entire herd is frantic, and they are racing away from the raging fire.

Hank cannot see Jesse, but he yells, "Jess, turn and get out of this smoke, head to that large fallen tree back in the pasture. We have to hide and have protection from this stampede of horses!"

Although, Hank doesn't know whether Jesse heard him or not Jesse turns Beau and gallops toward the fallen tree and safety. Hank spurs Black Magic into the darkness of the smoke. In a minute, Hank emerges from the haziness of the dark smoke, without Charlie, he sees Jesse has already gotten himself and Beau behind the massive tree trunk. He heads Black Magic to the safety of the fallen tree. Without a second to spare the herd of horses emerge from the haze of smoke and head straight toward Jesse and Hank's hiding spot behind the dead tree. Fortunately, the tree trunk is large enough to provide the two riders and their horse's good protection. The herd runs around both sides leaving Hank, Jesse, Beau and Black Magic in safety.

The hundreds of horses move pass the hiding men and gallop south toward the south pasture. "Mount up Jesse; we've got to find Charlie. He must have fallen from Lil Sue and got trampled."

Moving into the smoke, the two take their kerchiefs and tie them over their faces, it helps some, but the breathing is difficult. Yelling, "Jesse, go back, get out of this smoke, we're both going to die. Take Beau and get out! Save yourself!"

"No! I won't leave you. I'm coming toward your voice."

"Go, Jesse, go; I'm at the gate, I've found Charlie. Looks like the ponies stampeded when he opened the gate. The gate must 'of swung open knocking him out leaving him behind the protection of the gate. I've got him on Lil Sue, and we're coming out, he seems to have taken a big bump to his head."

Within a few minutes Jesse, Hank, and Charlie are back at the barn, Charlie is lying over his saddle as they move him to the watering trough. They place Charlie on the ground and using one of their kerchiefs dipped in the water wet his face. With water from the pump, they wash out the soot from his mouth.

Coughing and spitting Charlie sits up, "I'm...I'm.. fine fellers, how are.. the horses? Where is Lil Sue?"

Looking at the vast herd of horses, "Ponies, and Lil Sue are fine, Charlie, thanks to you, but that fire is still coming this way."

The fire has crossed the boundary into the north pasture on Jericho, "The wind is picking up fellers, we've only got about thirty minutes and the fire will be to the barn and house."

"What are we going to do Hank?" Charlie asks.

Hank explains to Charlie that without a miracle there wasn't anything they could do to stop the on-coming fury. The fire is racing through the waist-high grass. The horses are safe, but it wasn't going to be long before it would reach the barn and the rest of the outbuildings.

Charlie says with a worried look, "If the fire keeps coming we will have to cut the fences and let the horses and cattle try to escape on their own, Hank, you know the Stephenson Branch, and the Wolf Branch come together at the Brazos River. All our animals will be blocked; they will not be able to go any further. Tell me what to do, Hank!"

PRAY, CHARLIE PRAY!

"Pray, Charlie, just pray for a miracle."

The fires continue relentlessly toward the ranch house, when suddenly Charlie turns to Jesse and Hank, "What was that? That noise?"

"What? Charlie, I didn't hear anything, but the roar of the fire."

"No! No, that wasn't what I heard...there hear it...there it is again."

"Yeah," responds Hank, "that sounds like someone shooting one of our old Cuban artillery pieces."

"Thunder, Charlie, that's not a cannon, that is a rumble of thunder." Looking to the west, "Look fellers, that's a large thunderhead boiling up in the west, and it's coming this way."

Charlie and Jesse both turn and look westward. The whole western sky is filled with a dark, gigantic, angry looking thunderstorm.

"What was that? Hank, I think I felt a drop of rain."

Charlie isn't lying, Hank and Jesse feel it too. It is rain. At first, just a few droplets; however, within seconds the drops begin falling harder and harder. Removing their Stetsons the three stand looking at the sky letting the rain strike them in the face. They hear it pommel on the sheet iron roof of the barn. Harder and harder the rain begins to come down. The fire is dying; the thunderstorm is doing its job, the fire is being drown out. The ponies and the whitefaces are saved.

Jericho is saved.

Chapter Forty

CAMPAIGN FOR GOVERNOR

There is a rap on the Colonel's door. It is Theodore Roosevelt's Chief of Staff Thomas Platt. "Enter Mr. Platt, what do you have?"

"Sir, I just wanted to report your man Haskell Scarburg has not answered neither of your telegrams. The last was his request for your help getting his brothers out of jail in New Orleans. I realize he is your choice for your permanent Chief of Staff during your run for Governor of New York, but, Sir, he seems to have little interest in that position."

"I'm sure that isn't true, Mr. Platt, yes I would like Mr. Scarburg to come help me during my Governor's run, but something must have come up that has him delayed."

"Mr. Roosevelt, I believe if Mr. Scarburg were truly interested in your offer he would have already answered your telegrams. And Mr. Roosevelt we are getting ready to begin your run for the Governorship. Filling the Chief of Staff position is imperative that you have this person in place when we begin."

"Bully, Mr. Platt, you know I believe you could be right. I do need a Chief of Staff, and you have been doing a marvelous job, so I hereby appoint you as my Chief of Staff. If later Mr. Scarburg, for whatever reason, decides to jump aboard my campaign wagon we will find him another position."

"Mr. Roosevelt, should I send Mr. Scarburg another telegram informing him of your decision?"

"Yes, Mr. Platt, and tell him I have another position if he decides to come join me."

Chapter Forty-One

FIRE AFTERMATH

"Jesse count the cows and ponies in the lower pasture. Charlie I want you to ride over to the back forty, and you and the other cowhands check to see if we lost any cows and horses over there."

In the meantime, Hank mounts Black Magic and rides out the Jericho Gate galloping up the road to the house of Mamacita's daughter in the upper valley.

Hank knocks on the door as Rosalie a young Spanish girl peeps through the curtain and sees a cowboy standing on the porch. Cautiously, she cracks the door slightly as Hank speaks, "I'm sorry to bother you, Rosalie, but I need to speak to your mother, Mamacita. I am Hank Scarburg from the Jericho Ranch."

"Yes, Señor Scarburg, I recognize you, please come in."

Sitting in the small sitting room, Hank explains, "Mamacita, I am asking you to return to your duties at Jericho. We love you like one of our own family."

"No, Señor Hank," Mamacita speaking in a thick Mexican accent. "I cannot, I much afraid of the bad banditos."

"Mamacita, the ones that came first are in jail and the other murdering bunch, rest assured they are planted in the ground, so there's no one else of which to be afraid. We wish you would return to Jericho and continue your duties. As I said before, we consider you a part of our family and miss you; please come home to us."

"I will consider your offer Señor and give you my answer mañana."

"Alright, Mamacita, I will await your decision," said Hank moving toward the front door.

"Señor Scarburg," Rosalie asks, "may I speak to you before you go? I have something to say."

"Yes, of course, Rosalie, how may I help you?"

"Sir, you know the wildfire burnt over our entire spread. We have no cattle, the fire trapped them in the canyon, and we lost them all. Even if we had money to buy a starter herd, we have no grass, no hay, the fire took it all."

"Yes, Rosalie, Jericho can help. We can give you enough cows and a couple of bulls to get you back on your feet. If that will help?"

"It would, Mr. Scarburg, but the grass will not return until the spring."

"Then the cattle will be yours when the grass begins to grow again."

"Thank you, Señor, but we have a problem bigger than the loss of our cattle. All the ranchers in the upper Valley, such as ourselves, are in desperate straits. They too have lost everything, cattle, homes, barns, and grassland. I was fortunate, I did not lose my house, but they and I cannot survive the winter and wait until spring. We need help now."

Thinking of the fortune safely stored in the 1st National Bank, Jesse replies, "My brothers and I can see to it that you and the ranchers get through the winter. In the spring we will also help you all get back on your feet with cattle and bulls."

"Señor, that is a grand gesture, but it is too late."

"Too late? Rosalie, how can it be too late?"

"Señor Thaddeus Stagg of the Valley Land Company has been buying up all the ranches for five dollars an acre. The ranchers must sell since they cannot survive the winter, and five dollars is better than nothing at all."

"Why, five dollars an acre, that is highway robbery. Their ranch land is worth much more than that. He can't get away with this. Where is this Valley Land Company's office, Rosalie?"

"I know not, Señor, I know nothing, but to guess, maybe San Antone or maybe it be in Austin."

"Have you already sold out, Rosalie?"

"Only I sign his option to buy, when Señor Stagg returns in a few days I must sell too. We have nothing to live on through the winter."

"One second, Rosalie, let me go to my horse." Hank opens the door and walks to Black Magic's saddlebags. He opens a bag with the imprint '1st National Bank of San Antonio' and takes out fifty double-eagles and returns to Mamacita and Rosalie. "Here is a thousand dollars, enough money to get you to next spring, then we will begin rebuilding your ranch."

"No, I cannot take your money, Mr. Scarburg. We are poor, yes, but we work for what we have. I cannot take a handout."

"You misunderstand, Rosalie, this is not charity. It is a loan," Hank said, trying hard to convince her to take the money, "I expect to be repaid when your herd is thriving again."

"I wish, Mr. Scarburg, you had made me this load a few days ago. I would not have dealt with that loathsome Señor Stagg."

"I fully appreciate your predicament, Rosalie, do not give up hope. My brothers and I are your friends; we're not done yet. There must be something we can do to save your ranch."

Chapter Forty-Two

THURSDAY

Hank arrives at the Saddle Horn Café a few minutes before five and immediately spots Alex sitting at a table in the back near the window. He walks to her, his spurs jingling as he crosses the wood flooring of the restaurant. He sits down and picks up the menu looking for the biggest steak they have. Alex said they have the best T-bones in San Antonio, and Hank wants to find out for himself. "Now, what would you like to talk about?" Hank asks after they both order.

"Hank, darling, I confess, I miss you so much, and I am so lonely." she pleads, looking at him with the saddest of green eyes. "Remember, Father is out of town so we will have the house all to ourselves for the weekend. What do you say about that, Hank Scarburg?"

"Alex, I say that is a swell idea, but I'm sorry I have some critical business to attend to first."

"What! There is business that is more important than me?"

"No, Alex, never, but remember you told me about the upper Valley wildfire the last time we met. I got to Jericho in time for Jesse, Charlie and me to save our ranch, but the ranchers in the upper Valley weren't as lucky, they lost everything." Hank tells Alex how the ranchers were burned out entirely, cattle killed, homes, barns, grass, and hay destroyed. Hank explains how the ranchers are in desperate need of help, and he and his two brothers are going to try helping them.

"Alex, have you heard of a man named Thaddeus Stagg of the Valley Land Company?"

"Yes, I have heard Father speak of him. I understand he is a very conniving, unscrupulous man. Father said he made his fortune swindling the little ranchers. Mr. Stagg finances land to ranchers he knows that cannot pay the mortgage, then he repossesses their spreads after they have poured sweat and tears into improving their property. He then sells their ranches for a good profit, usually to farmers to raise crops instead of cows."

"Yeah, he's buying up the Two River's Valley now at five dollars an acre, land that is worth ten times that amount. Me and my brothers have to stop him; we can't let him get away with robbing those poor ranchers. Do you know where the Valley Land Company has its office?"

"Of course, Hank, Mr. Stagg rents office space from my father. His office is in the 1st National Bank building. Father, holds all the mortgages on the Valley Land Company in the vault at his bank. Father deals with him as a customer, but he knows Mr. Stagg is an unprincipled man. But, Hank, you seem confused."

"Confused?"

"Yes, you don't know why Mr. Stagg is buying up all the valley land?"

"No, why? Does he have a purpose other than greed?"

"Greed, yes, but it is because of the dam."

"Dam? What dam, Alex? What are you talking about?"

"Oh, I'm not supposed to talk about it. Father let it slip, but no official announcement has yet been made."

"Alexandra, for goodness sakes, tell me, what dam?"

"The government is planning on building a hydroelectric dam on the Brazos River and flood the entire Two River's Valley. Mr. Stagg thinks he can buy up the land cheaply and sell the Valley back to the government and make a fortune. It slipped my mind when I last talked since I knew you and your brothers would never sell Jericho, regardless of the price offered. But..."

"Damn right," replied Hank. "I think we should pay this Mr. Stagg a visit. Wait a minute, Alex what is the 'But'..."

"Father said any rancher that did not accept the government's offer for their land the government would initiate 'Right of Eminent Domain' proceedings and have the land condemned."

"You mean the government would steal it from us, in other words."

"Yes, I'm afraid so, Hank. Steal, but legally in the eyes of the law."

"Not Jericho. No, not Jericho, only over my cold, dead body will anyone take Jericho away from me, Jesse and Charlie."

"I'm sorry, Hank, but you can't fight the government."

"You're wrong there, I believe we can, Alex. I need you to speak with your Father and outline our plan." For the next few minutes Hank explains how he, Jesse and Charlie are going to keep Mr. Stagg from getting Jericho and the rest of Two River's Valley, and her Father Mr. Stone, as the owner of the 1st National Bank of San Antonio, needs to help them.

Hank, in his conniving mind, has devised a plan to save Jericho.

MR. STAGG

The lettering on the office door reads:

Valley Land Company

Thaddeus Stagg-Proprietor

"Yes, may I help you," asks the young woman sitting at the desk inside the office. The Scarburg brothers are coming to meet with the Stagg feller.

"Maybe," said Hank, "me and my two brothers are looking for a Mister Thaddeus Stagg. We understand he is paying good money for land in the Two River's Valley."

"I'm sorry Mr. Stagg is out of the office, but you have property in Two Rivers?" She asks.

"Yes... yes, we do, and we want to sell. Jericho, our ranch, got burned out and we are desperate to move out before winter gets here."

The young lady gets up from her desk and walks across the room to a large map on the wall. Hank, Jesse, and Charlie move with her to better see the map. It is a map of the Two River's Valley. A vast number of blue pins, a red pin, and two black pins are sticking into the map. "What is this?" Jesse questions the lady as he points to the map.

"This is a map of the Two River's Valley. Mr. Stagg knows the ranches in the valley have been destroyed, and with winter coming the ranchers must move out or starve. No one wants the land now, but through the generosity of Mr. Stagg, he is willing to take a chance on the land. My boss believes he can get settlers to come to the Valley and turn the ranches into farmland. He is paying the ranchers five dollars an acre for their land, which he believes is more than generous. Gentlemen, could you show me where your land is located?"

Hank approaches the map and finds the Jericho ranch. It has two black pins sticking in it. "Right here, these two black pins show where Jericho is located," said Hank, "what do these other pins mean?"

Looking closer she answers, "blue is property Mr. Stagg has already purchased or has options to buy, and black is acreage he still needs to acquire. The one red pin is a small parcel of land, in the upper valley, that Mr. Stagg hasn't purchased yet."

"Why does Jericho have two black pins?"

"Mr. Stagg believes that property is more valuable than the others, and he is willing to pay twice as much to acquire the land."

"So, he's willing to pay us ten dollars an acre for Jericho. Do I hear you correctly?"

"Yes," said the young lady, "Mr. Stagg believes ten dollars an acre for your ranch is a very generous proposition."

"Tell me about this one parcel of land indicated by the red pin?"

She responds, "I don't know much about it other than a Mr. Rufus Abraham owns it. His father was a freed black man that moved out here right after the Civil War."

"From the placement of the red pin, it indicates Mr. Abraham's place is located on the North Sandy fork of the Wolf Branch of the Brazos River. That is up in the northernmost part of the Two River's Valley."

"Yes, but he can't hold out much longer, Mr. Stagg will purchase his land before long."

Hank begins to speak, but Jesse grabs his arm, "Come on Hank, we'll come back when Mr. Stagg has returned."

Outside, standing on the sidewalk, "Why didn't you let me light into her. I was ready for her. How much are they going to pay for the whiteface cattle, the ponies, the house, the barn, and the equipment? Didn't think of that, did they? "

"Yeah, I know Hank, but she was just doing her job, we need to speak with the boss and not his employee. And remember, we are not selling Jericho to him anyhow."

Jesse and Hank step from the sidewalk into the street and are almost run down by a shiny, black carriage. "Hey," yells Jesse at the driver, "watch where you are going."

The coach driver pays no attention to Jesse. He pulls the reins on the four-in-hand team of horses bringing them to a dusty halt. He jumps from his perch on the seat, sits a small stool on the ground and opens the carriage door. A gentleman in a dark suit and black, felt Derby hat steps to the stool onto the street, "Thank you, Charles," the passenger said waving his gilded cane.

"Good day, Mr. Stagg," the driver replies, tipping the brim of his hat.

Hank steps from the sidewalk, beating the dust from his pants with his Stetson, into the path of Mr. Stagg, "Sir, excuse me, you are Thaddeus Stagg of the Valley Land Company, are you not?"

"Yes, young man, I am Thaddeus Stagg, why are you blocking my way? Is there something I can do for you?"

"Sir, we were just in your office inquiring about land in the Two River's Valley. We are the Scarburgs of Jericho Ranch. I am Hank, and these are my two brothers Jesse and Charlie. We might be interested in selling out since the fire destroyed our ranch and all our stock. Now that we have nothing left we're thinking about going to California."

"Gentlemen, follow me, let's go back inside to my office."

Inside Mr. Stagg's office, Hank points to the map, "We saw earlier you have either purchased or have options to purchase most of the land in Two River's Valley. Your office manager said if you can buy Jericho, you will have most of the land in the valley."

"Yes, you are correct, Mr. Scarburg. The Valley has been devastated by the fire, and it will be years before the land can return to productive cattle ranching. I have an idea to bring in settlers from up north and from back east, and let them put a plow in the dirt and make the land worthwhile as farms, not ranches."

"That is a very admirable proposition, Mr. Stagg. We have ten thousand acres, how much could we get for our burned out ranch?"

"The Jericho Ranch, that is quite a spread, the biggest in Two Rivers. The farmers can use such fertile soil that is on your Jericho Ranch. I would be willing to give ten dollars an acre for your spread."

Hank looks at Jesse and Charlie, "Mr. Stagg, my brothers and I have already discussed selling to you, but we will not take less than twenty dollars an acre. We have to receive more for our cattle and horses we lost."

"Twenty? My, my, that is two hundred thousand dollars. That is a lot of money. I have invested most of my funds in buying options on the rest of the Valley. I want your land, but I will need to see my banker and work out a way to obtain the funds to pay you."

"Wait a minute, Hank; we need to talk." Complains Jesse.

"Later, Jesse, I'll explain what's happening." Hank said.

"That's fine, Mr. Stagg, where is your broker's bank?"

"Oh, it's right here, the 1st National Bank of San Antonio. All I have to do is go down the hall and secure a loan. Shouldn't take but a few minutes, I have done business with them for years."

"Before you go, Mr. Stagg, my brothers and I only have one stipulation before we sell. It is now September we would like to stipulate that all the land in the Valley will not change hands until the 2nd Day of January 1899. That way, the ranchers and their families, can have one last Christmas and New Year's Day in their old homesteads. After the new year, they can move out, and you can take possession of their ranches along with Jericho. Also, we would like to say if for some reason you reneged on the purchase all monies already transferred to the ranchers will be forfeited. Many of the ranchers have already purchased other properties or in some way have made plans to vacate their land. Any funds paid for Jericho will also be forfeited on the 2nd day of January 1899."

Mr. Stagg knows the dam is a cut and dried deal, so losing money on this transaction is not a possibility. He has already gotten proof positive from the Colonel over the Army Corp of Engineers that the dam is a certainty to be built. Purchasing their property is money in the bank.

"Excuse me for a little while; I shall return directly."

With this, Mr. Stagg leaves Jesse, Hank, and Charlie standing in a far corner whispering Hank's plan as he leaves to procure a loan to buy Jericho. Mr. Stagg doesn't know Alex has also explained to her father how Hank wants the 1st National to loan Mr. Stagg the entire two hundred thousand dollars. However, to obtain the loan, Mr. Stagg will be required to put up all his ranch land plus his mansion in San Antonio in addition to all the deeds and options for the land he has already acquired in Two River's Valley from the ranchers. All the transactions will become null and void, and Mr. Stagg will forfeit his money on the 2nd day of January 1899. The two hundred thousand will then be returned to Mr. Stone's bank.

Thirty minutes later Mr. Stagg returns to his office, waving a cashier's check for two hundred thousand dollars. "Gentlemen here is the money I promised for your ranch, made out to you, Jesse Scarburg as the official owner of record for Jericho. All you need to do is endorse it and walk down the hall and deposit the funds in your account. I'll get the transfer deed for you to sign, effective 2 January 1899."

"Very good, Mr. Stagg, but before I sign the deed, I have two stipulations. First, we have a few cowhands and their families living on one back section of our land that was unharmed by the fire. If we are selling Jericho, we need time to get these families resettled to new homes. "

"Sure, no problem, how much time do you need?"

"As we previously said, it is now the middle of September; we will transfer Jericho to you on the 2nd day of January 1899, our cowhands will be out by then. In the meantime, I will put the cashier's check in our bank account pending the deadline on the 1st of January. If for some reason the deal is a bust on your end this cashier's check is non-refundable. Is that agreeable to you?"

"Second, if you will raise the purchase price to ten dollars an acre I will try to get Mr. Abraham to sell you his spread. You will then have control of the whole valley, what do you say?"

Mr. Stagg could see in his mind's eye ownership of the entire Two River's Valley. Jericho and the Abraham ranch were the final two jewels in the deal. Now the government can begin negotiating with him for the whole Valley. They will offer forty dollars an acre, he will counter with sixty dollars, they would then come to the table to split the difference at fifty dollars an acre. Once the government settles the land deal, preparations can begin to build the hydroelectric dam on the Brazos River. He readily agrees to the ninety-day delay in the official acquisition of Jericho, and to the purchase of Mr. Abraham's ranch at the ten dollars per acre amount.

HANK MUST GO

Sitting on the settee in Alex's home, holding her hand Hank looks into her eyes, "I'm sorry, Alex I have to go to New York to work for Mr. Roosevelt for a while. Currently, he is running for Governor of New York, and I promised him when we were being mustered out of the service I would help him as his Chief of Staff. I cannot go back on my word; I hope you understand."

"But, Hank, I love you. Do you not love me?"

"Yes, of course, but I must go to save Jericho and the rest of the ranches in Two River's Valley. I cannot save them from here; I must go to Mr. Roosevelt and get him to help."

"Hank, do you truly have to go?"

"I'm sorry, but I do; however, before I leave, I need to ride up to the upper Valley and speak with Mr. Rufus Abraham about the purchase of his ranch to Mr. Stagg. It is September, and I have to speak to the other ranchers to make sure they have sufficient supplies to last out the winter. I am going to suggest to my brothers that we take a thousand dollars in money from the Jericho Educational Fund to give to each burned out rancher in Two River's Valley so they can survive until spring when the grass will begin to grow again."

Chapter Forty-Three

ALBANY, NY

Thomas Platt, Roosevelt's Chief of Staff, is sitting at his desk planning the campaign when the Western Union telegram arrives. Seeing who it is from he contemplates tossing it in the trash. That would be too obvious, reluctantly he decides to give Roosevelt the cable.

A couple of knocks sound from Mr. Roosevelt's door, and Mr. Platt sticks in his head waving a small yellow piece of paper, "Looks like you have a telegram for me, Thomas? Who is it from?"

"Yes, Mr. Roosevelt it is from that cowboy Haskell Scarburg down in hayseed Texas."

"De-lighted, Thomas, de-lighted, don't be so harsh on the young man, what does he have to say?"

"He is still in Texas, something about a range fire said he will come when he can."

"Yes, yes, range fires. I understand. We had the same problems in North Dakota. They can be devastating. He will get here when he can. Where are we supposed to be tomorrow Thomas?"

"Saratoga, Sir, you have a speech at the Moose Lodge. Then over to the Woodmen of the World's Conference. Then we attend the Republican Convention where you will seek the state's Republican nomination. We won't be back until the day after tomorrow."

"That's fine; I'll send him a message when we return letting him know I still have a job for him. That is if the Republicans give me a job."

"Boss" Platt is head of the Republican Committee in New York state, In fact, Mr. Platt does not particularly like Mr. Roosevelt, but Platt needs someone with a known name to go up against the hugely unpopular incumbent Republican Governor Frank Black. Platt reasons a head to head matchup with the Democratic opponent will spell defeat for the Republican Black. A defeat for Black is a loss for the Republican Party and especially a setback for Thomas Platt and his questionable political activities.

Platt's conniving centers around thinking Roosevelt, being a political novice will be easily controlled. "Boss" Platt's rationale cannot have been farther from the truth.

Mr. Roosevelt is beyond reproach, and incorruptible. He has a mind of his own. He and Mr. Platt have already had a couple of arguments concerning Platt's appointing party donors to lucrative state positions, and he has been unsuccessfully trying to get his boss Mr. Roosevelt to drop this notion of bringing on board this cowboy from nowhere Texas.

THEODORE ROOSEVELT FOR GOVERNOR

On 25 September 1898, the Republican bosses decide to nominate Theodore Roosevelt against the wishes of the Republican incumbent Governor Thomas S. Black. Black was unpopular in the state of New York, and the Republican machine believes he cannot succeed against the opposition party. On 27 September the state convention chooses Theodore Roosevelt to run against the Democrat Augustus Van Wyck.

Roosevelt and Platt launch a hearty campaign stumping from the upper end of New York state all the way to New York City. Teddy campaigns vigorously on his war record, and on November 8 wins the election for Governor of New York.

Hank, has yet to arrive to join Mr. Roosevelt.

Chapter Forty-Four

SAVING TWO RIVER'S VALLEY

"How about another cup of coffee, Jesse?" Hank asks as he, Jesse, and Charlie sit around the kitchen table after breakfast.

"Warm this one up a bit, thank you. What are you up to, Hank? I can tell when you have something on your mind. You and Charlie are hatching something, what is it?"

"No, Jess, not Charlie, he's in the dark as much as you."

"Hank, let Charlie and me in on your little plan."

"Since we left Mr. Stagg's office I can't seem to get that red pin off my mind. The only two holdouts in Two River's Valley are Jericho and the spread up on the North Sandy. That ranch belongs to Rufus Abraham. I think we ought to help him out."

"Help him out? How can we help him, Hank?"

"I have also been thinking why can't we help out all the folks in the Valley? You know Mr. Stagg has either bought up or has options to buy all the land in this valley with the exceptions of the Abraham ranch and Jericho, and without any grass or animals, the ranchers cannot make it through the winter. They will have to take Mr. Stagg's offer and move on to better land. I have a plan to solve this."

"A plan?" Said Charlie, "I do not know what it is Hank, but I am with you. What have you got? You know I have always had your back, and now is no different."

"We know Mr. Stagg is buying up all the land in the valley betting on the government building that hydroelectric dam down on the Brazos. When I get to New York, I'm going to see if I can get Mr. Roosevelt to put the kibosh on those plans. We've gotten Mr. Stagg to put up his property and all the money he can borrow. If I can get this dam stopped, Stagg will lose everything, home, land and money. He will be penniless."

"How in the world can you get Mr. Roosevelt to stop the government from building the dam, Hank?" Asks Charlie.

"Charlie, you remember those cliffs over close to the Stephenson Branch of the river? You know the ones that have the caves with all those Indian drawings on the walls? If those Washington knot heads flood the valley, those caves will go underwater and ruin all those Indian artifacts. I don't believe Mr. Roosevelt will take kindly to these events. Teddy is a staunch conservationist. He is a true naturalist; he loves land uninhabited by man. He thinks nature should be left to be enjoyed by all. A hydroelectric dam will not be to his liking. He's got friends in high places that will listen to him and get this government dam thing stopped."

"Hank, I see now why we were in such a hurry to sell to Mr. Stagg. He's going to lose his ass on his Two River's Valley scheme."

"We were never gonna sell a foot of Jericho to that horse thief. I suggest we take some of the money, at least a thousand dollars per ranch, from our Jericho Educational Fund at the 1st National Bank and use it to tide over the ranchers until spring. In the spring when the grass begins to grow again, we provide them with enough whiteface cows and bulls to get them back on their feet."

"You know, Hank, you sometimes come up with some crazy ideas, but this time I am in total agreement with you. If you are crazy so am I," said Jesse. "I'm proud you're my brother."

"Me too," responds Charlie, slapping Hank on the back.

"Where do we begin Hank?"

"First, let's make a list of all the ranchers in the valley. Next, we go draw out a thousand dollars for each ranch and give the money to the ranchers to allow them to survive this coming winter. Then, we go see Mr. Abraham and convince him to hold out until I can get the dam stopped."

Chapter Forty-Five

MR. RUFUS ABRAHAM

Jesse, Hank, and Charlie spurred on their horses as they ascend the last hill before approaching the Abraham ranch. "Look, Hank; there's a lot of black smoke coming from the area behind the Abraham ranch house. I thought that the last rancher said the fire started close to Mr. Abraham's place, why is it still burning when the rest of the valley had the fire put out by the hard rainfall?"

"Yeah, I see it, but it's not his house or barn, I can see them, both are undamaged."

Topping the hill the men can see the dark, black, billowing smoke rising into the air. "That is not a grass fire; it is black smoke. From a grass fire, the smoke is mostly white and grey. Let's ride on down to the ranch house and speak with Mr. Abraham."

They hitch their horses to the rail as the front door of the cabin is pushed open, a bull of a black man with a short white beard swings the screen door open and moves to the porch, "Not another step!" He said swinging the double-barreled shotgun to his shoulder. "I have spoke clearly to Mr. Stagg's men and to Mr. Stagg hisself, I's not selling my ranch fer five dollars an acre. I's not even selling fer even ten dollars an acre, now git off this here land and go tells Mr. Stagg my answer!"

"Whoa, hold on there Mr. Abraham, we are the Scarburg brothers from the lower end of the Valley. We do not work for Mr. Stagg. We own the Jericho Ranch down where the Stephenson and Wolf Branches merge into the Brazos River. We have come to talk to you, not in support of Mr. Stagg, but to urge you not to sell to him."

"Who does you say you is?"

"I am Jesse Scarburg, and these are my brothers Hank, and Charlie."

"This one," said Mr. Abraham, staring at Charlie, "looks like an Injun. I don't take to Injuns."

"Good eye, Mr. Abraham," replies Jesse, "he is a Comanche by birth, but my Mother and Father adopted him when he was just a small child. He has been raised as our brother ever since, and we love him as we do our own flesh and blood, so please don't shoot him."

"Mr. Abraham, may we come upon the porch and talk?" Hank asks.

As he sits down in the shade, Mr. Abraham said to call him Rufus. "Rufus, we have been visiting all the ranchers across the Two River's Valley. You are the last one we have come to see."

"As I's said before, I's not selling my ranch to Mr. Stagg."

"That's why we are here to talk to you. We do not want you to sell your ranch, neither do we want any of the other ranchers to sell to Mr. Stagg. We noticed as we rode onto your spread how your grass is totally destroyed by the fire. I suppose most of your herd was also lost, are we correct?"

"Yes, dat is right, but da dadgum fire started itself right here on my ranch. I's terribly sorry 'bout that, but it was beyond my control. The fire done begun during an electric storm when a big ole lightning bolt striked my pool of blackwater over on my back forty."

"Blackwater? What in the world is 'blackwater' Rufus?"

"Yeah dat is strange, I has me a small pond of blackwater that I done use to burn in my lamps. I go over there every month or so and fetch me a five gallon bucket of it and use it to kindle my fires and oil lamps. I jest pours off the water and save that black oily stuff that burns pretty good. But lately, I have not been able to use the blackwater since the lightning set fire to the pond, that dadgum thing is still burning."

"Rufus, we saw the black smoke as we arrived. We thought for a moment you were burning off trees from clearing a new ground, but we have a plan to keep Mr. Stagg from taking over your ranch and the entire Two River's Valley. We want to give you a small loan to get you through the winter until the grass begins to grow again. The rains came before the fire reached Jericho, and we did not have any loss of cattle, so come spring we'll help you with more cows and a bull or two to get you back on your feet."

"Thank you kindly so much; I's was plenty worried 'bout what me, my missus and the kids wuz gonna do this winter. How can we's ever repay you?"

"This is what neighbors do for each other, Rufus. Let's get you to next spring, and we'll work something out then, don't you worry about a thing. If it would not be too much trouble could we go see your 'blackwater pond'?"

THE 'BLACK POND'

Arriving at the 'black pond,' the brothers are amazed. It is truly small, about ten feet in diameter with a small stream of burning 'water' flowing out the lower end. This stream runs another ten or so feet and then burns itself out. Jesse, Hank, and Charlie dismount from their horses and walk to the upper edge of the pool of water. On the edge of the pond is a small hole from which flows black sludge along with a small stream of fresh water, "That's crude oil coming from that hole," remarks Jesse. "Rufus, that's oil!"

"Charlie, let's grab some of these rocks lying around and drop them into this hole and stop the flow." In a couple of minutes, the oil and water flow stops.

"What does we do now?" Asks Rufus.

"We'll just sit here and let the oil on top of the water burn itself out; then we will remove the stones from the hole and let the oil and water begin to flow again. Rufus, once the fire stops you'll be able to use the oil for your lamps again."

Less than an hour later the last of the oil on the surface of the water burns off and the men remove the rocks. The oil begins to seep out of the ground once again.

Back at the ranch house, "Rufus, do you know what you have over there on your back forty? Oil! You're going to be a very rich man Rufus."

"I still don't want to sell to that skunk, Mr. Stagg."

"Rufus, of course, you don't, you're sitting on a gold mine. Or better still a field of golden oil."

Charlie returns to Lil Sue's saddlebag and comes back with a thousand dollars in double-eagles and gives them to Rufus.

"Why, fellers this here's a thousand dollars, hard gold cash money. This is more than enough to grubstake me and my family through this here coming winter. Eliza!" Rufus yells from the porch, "come out here on the porch. See what the Scarburg boys is doing fer us."

Looking at Jesse, Hank, and Charlie, "youse got to remember this here cash money is jest a loan. Rufus Abraham ain't never took charity from one livin' soul, and although I's getting on in years, I aint's fixin' to start now. Eliza, bring out a piece of writtin' paper and a scriber and I'll put down our agreement. That is, one of you Scarburg men can scribe it down, fer all I can do is 'x' my name, but I'll be more'n glad to do that."

"This isn't necessary, Rufus a man's word is better than his name on a sheet of paper. And we know your word and handshake is your bond. Now you take this money, provide for your family this winter, and when spring shows her warm head, and the grass begins to grow again, we'll fix you up with them cows and bulls, how about that?"

"Youse got my word," spitting on his hand and rubbing it on his worn out overalls, he sticks out his hand for Hank to shake.

The old Negro man was so appreciative a slight tear slid out the corner of one eye and down his cheek. "You fellers don't know how much my family appreciates yer generosity. I won't never forget this, never."

RETURNING TO JERICHO

A short distant from the Rufus' ranch Hank walks Black Magic slowly between Jesse and Charlie's horses, "Fellers, do you both know what we just saw?" Jesse and Charlie both grunt in agreement. "Oil, guys this small puddle of 'blackwater' on Rufus' land proves there is oil underneath Two River's Valley. Since Jericho is downhill from Rufus in the upper Valley without a doubt, Jericho is sitting on a pond of oil too.

Jesse, Jericho's deed is still in your name. The first item on the agenda is to get the deed changed back to all three of us. Next, the three of us need to get a confidential agreement with an oil geologist onto Jericho and see what he thinks. He needs to check the ranches all over Two Rivers. The agreement is to ensure the oil guys do not disclose their findings if they discover oil under the entire Two River's Valley. Getting these things done is going to be left up to you two guys; I have to leave and go to New York. Now we know oil is probably under Two River's it is imperative I get Mr. Roosevelt to stop the government from building that hydroelectric dam."

Hank adds, "At first I thought we were simply going to bankrupt that swindler Mr. Stagg, but the discovery of this oil changes the whole plan of things."

Jesse asks, "Hank do you think Mr. Stagg knows about the oil on Mr. Abraham's land? "

"I don't believe he knows. He is more interested in getting the land before the hydroelectric dam is constructed. His intent is to make money off the sale of the Two River's Valley land. His idea was to buy the land in a depressed state due to the wildfire and all its destruction and then he was going to sell it back to the government at double or even triple his investment cost.

Rufus thinks lightning started the grass fire, I don't. If I were a betting man I'd wager Stagg's men started that fire when they were sneaking about scouting the land. They knew the northern wind would blow it clear down the valley to Jericho."

"He thinks he's a shrewd old bird, but not as shrewd as the three Scarburg brothers," Hank said smiling.

"I don't think Mr. Abraham has ever let Mr. Stagg or his men on his land. I don't believe they have seen the 'blackwater' pond either. Oil under Two River's Valley is a secret known only to Rufus Abraham and us. Let's keep it that way until we hear from our oil geologist."

"Good idea," responds Jesse. "Charlie and I will keep a tight lid on this information while you are working with Mr. Roosevelt. Hank the whole plan depends on you getting Mr. Roosevelt to stop construction on the Brazos hydroelectric dam. If the dam is not stopped all the oil reserves under Two River's Valley won't be worth a wooden buffalo nickel."

"Jesse, that is exactly right."

Chapter Forty-Six

HANK'S NEW JOB

"Come in my boy and have a seat," Mr. Roosevelt said indicating Hank to a comfortable, red leather chair in his office. "How have things been going? It's been a while since you and Charlie mustered out down at Long Island. By the way, how is Charlie?"

"Good to see you again, Mr. Roosevelt. A lot has happened since you, and I last met. Yeah, Charlie is fine, ornery as ever, but he will never get that out of his system as long as he has that Comanche blood. I promised you I'd come help in your campaign for Governor, but things got pretty messed up down in Texas, and I couldn't cut loose when I wanted too."

"Fill me in son, tell me what your life has been like since your Army days." Opening a cigar box, he hands Hank the box, "Here have one of my Havanas."

Hank fires up the Cuban stogie and begins with the story of the death of his father. The story is emotion-filled. He tells the Governor about Joe and Margarita, leaving the Colonel's ranch after the death of his father, watching the mudslide that covered the men and the steamboat. He further explains about one of the men telling Joe before he dies, that the steamboat was carrying over five million dollars in gold. Joe and Margarita load two chests full of gold onto their wagon and brings them to Jericho. "To whom did the gold belong?' asks Mr. Roosevelt.

"We never found out, Sir. We believe it was gold stolen during the Civil War. We knew it was Yankee gold by the large 'U.S.' stamped on the sides of the old chests."

We melted it down and formed four golden ram's horns. We figured the outlaws would show up eventually, so we hid the gold where they would never find it, in plain sight, mounted on our front Jericho Gate, and painted white."

Mr. Roosevelt questioned why they would do such a thing, but Hank explains Joe and Margarita noticed a group of men watching as they loaded the two chests of gold onto their wagons, and they figured sooner or later they would show up at Jericho seeking the gold. Hank explains how the outlaws arrived one day and demanded to know where the gold was buried. Jess and Indian Joe were truthful saying there wasn't an ounce of gold buried on the Jericho ranch.

Jess was able to grab his Winchester and kill their leader, the rest surrendered. Jess carried them into town and turned them over to the sheriff. Hank explains to the Colonel while Jesse was in town the remaining outlaws came to Jericho and murdered Indian Joe and Margarita, along with three other ranch hands.

"Did the last bunch of outlaws escape?" Asked the Colonel.

"We chased them into old Mexico into a town called El Diablo. We killed every last one of them and left them lying where they died."

"What happened to the gold?"

"We don't know what happened to the bulk of the gold, but our two chests we converted into gold double-eagles. We believe the gold was stolen by the Yankees from the people of Georgia. We had General Sherman's journal detailing the destruction he wrought on the inhabitants of Georgia, so, we followed the path of General William Sherman's march through Georgia and returned as much money as we could to the good descendants that still lived there. We replaced church organs, courthouses, libraries, provided oil for years of light in a church, rebuild a plantation house, provided for the loss of a cotton gin and gave money to a whole community of destitute black folks to help them get back on their feet."

"What marvelous acts of charity you boys accomplished. Did you spend all the money."

"Heavens no! With the remains, we set up a trust fund to provide education to the Indian kids of central Texas and to help in other places as we saw fit. During the range fire that practically burned the whole Two River's Valley most of the ranches had all their grass destroyed, their home burned, and their livestock killed. We provided them with a thousand dollar gift to get them through the winter until the grass returns in the spring. Our herd was not destroyed, so this spring we intend to furnish each ranch enough cows and bulls to give them a new start."

"Marvelous, marvelous is all I can say; I wish there were something that I could do to assist those helpless ranchers."

"I was hoping you would say that, Governor Roosevelt. You see after the grass fire ruined the ranches one unscrupulous man by the name of Thaddeus Stagg is buying up or taking options on all the Valley land. He is giving the ranchers a measly five dollars an acre for their land. Land that is worth four or five times as much. His ace in the hole is the plans of the U. S. Government to build a hydroelectric dam on the Brazos River and flood the entire Two River's Valley. Mr. Stagg figures he can get fifty or sixty dollars an acre for the land from the government for which he has paid only five dollars an acre. There is a perfect spot twenty-five miles farther down the Brazos for this dam. If the dam is not constructed at the junction of the Stephenson and Wolf Branches of the Brazos River, my brothers and I have set up a scheme to ensure that snake, Mr. Stagg, will lose his shirt, he will be penniless.

Another reason not to flood Two River's Valley is oil. Recently we have discovered the valley is sitting on a vast supply of crude oil. We have an oil geologist at this very moment surveying the entire valley to determine how much oil is available, and if drilling is viable."

"My son, you boys have been busy since you were discharged out of the Army. You know I promised you my Chief of Staff job, but since you were in such a turmoil in Texas, I had to appoint Thomas Platt to that position. I had to have someone close at hand during my run for Governor; I hope you understand, Hank,"

"No need to apologize, Governor, I truly understand, I'm sorry I let you down. It has been a pleasure serving you. Thanks for considering me for the job, so I guess now I will be returning to Texas."

"No! No, my boy. You will have a place in my administration, in fact, the office of Environmental Protection is vacant. Take that position as head, along with a staff of three and work with those guys down at the Corp of Engineers in D.C. and get that bloody dam relocated. Toss my name around; those fellers know me. I still have some influence down there.

I want your office to oversee my Parks and Forestry Service too. I think our great land need to be enjoyed by everyone. Make sure of that Hank."

Platt was very pleased by Hank's appointment to the Environmental Protection Agency. Hank's job was an obscure position with little to no interference in the day to day running of the politics of the Governor's office. He walked Hank down one of the corridors far from the Governor's office and stands in front of a large mahogany door with the upper half glass. Written on the glass in bold, gold letters was the name:

ENVIRONMENTAL PROTECTION AGENCY

"I'll get the painters to print your name beneath, Mr. Scarburg, to make it official:

MR. HASKELL SCARBURG - DIRECTOR

How does that sound?"

"Fine, fine, Mr. Platt you have been most kind."

"If you need nothing further I will return to my other duties."

Hank stands for a moment admiring his new office door, he hesitantly reaches and grasps the brass doorknob and swings the door open. To his surprise, he sees three desks - two occupied by two young ladies and the third by a man dressed in a three-piece suit and wearing a monocle. They all arise upon Hank's entrance. Walking forward the gentleman, who appears in his early thirties, who extends his hand, "Good day, Sir, I assume you are the new Director Mr. Haskell Scarburg?" As he shakes Hank's hand, he further adds, "I am your office manager Mickey Hunt. These two ladies are your secretaries, Linda Pierce and Beverly Maxwell. Your private office is through that door," he said pointing.

Hank tells them, as he releases Mr. Hunt's hand, how happy he is to meet them and how he will need to rely on their knowledge and expertise for most of the decisions he makes. He explains that he and the Governor were in the Cuban War together and he was Mr. Roosevelt's Adjutant during the conflict, but he has no experience in a Governor's administration. He tells them the Governor has given him authority to oversee the development of the parks and forestry within the state of New York. He further explains, he has no idea what this means, but with their help maybe he can figure it out.

"Mr. Hunt, Miss Pierce, and Miss Maxwell for our first project I want you to get in touch with the Corp of Engineers in Washington. I would appreciate it if you would speak to the person who is directly in control of overseeing the construction of dams across the broad extent of our U.S. waterways. Use the Governor's name freely and threaten and pressure them in any way possible. This is critical, no matter what it takes, the Corp of Engineers must revise its plans to build the hydroelectric dam at the junction of the Stephenson and Wolf's Branches of the Brazos River in central Texas.

This dam is going to disrupt the lives of families that have lived on this land for generations. There is another better site down river about twenty miles, that place is uninhabited and would suit the needs of a dam just as well. We must get the Corps to move their construction plans no later the 1st day of January 1899.

Now I wish all of you to understand, getting this dam moved is going to be this office's number one priority. When talking with the Corp of Engineers throw around the names of Major General Leonard Wood, Major General Shafter, and Major General Joseph Wheeler. Colonel Roosevelt and I are personally acquainted with these generals, and I'm sure they will consider it an honor to do us a favor. You will be speaking to a junior officer, probably a colonel, possible a one star. Put the fear of God into him. Pull strings and twist arms, nothing scares a colonel or a general more than mentioning a higher grade officer or political figure in high places.

If all else fails, get a sit down with the Corp's Director with Mr. Roosevelt, there's no better persuader than Colonel Roosevelt."

"Consider it done, Mr. Scarburg," answered Mr. Hunt.

"Remember, the final decision to move the dam, must occur before the first day of the new year. Anything less will be considered a failure."

Chapter Forty-Seven

OIL! OIL! OIL!

"Jesse," yelled Charlie running into the barn. "Jesse there are a couple of wagons and four or five men coming through the Jericho Gate. You have any idea who they are?"

Jesse is wearing a leather apron and has one of the mare's front leg straddled between his knees. He lays down the rasp he is using to smooth out the horse's hoof on which he has been working. "What'd you say, Charlie, I was rasping this hoof and didn't get all you said?"

"I said I see some folks coming up the lane from the Jericho Gate. Looks like a pretty big crowd."

"That would probably be the men from the United Oil Geophysical Engineering Company of San Antone. I got in touch with them a couple of weeks ago. With the proof on Rufus Abraham's ranch, I convinced them there might be oil under this entire valley. It looks like they agreed because here they come."

Out in the barnyard, Jesse removes his work gloves and leather apron and motions the men to dismount their horses and get down from the wagons. "Howdy, men, welcome to Jericho Ranch, this is my brother Charlie, my other brother Hank is away at the moment and will not be back for a period. Why don't you fellers come on up to the house and Mamacita will fix you up some grub and a big ole pot of coffee that'll put hair on your chest. I'd like to hear how this oil exploration is going to take place."

In a heavy German accent, the leader said, "I am Helmut Karr, originally my Frau and I are from Mannheim, Germany. Danke, a hot cup of coffee would be very nice, and I will explain how we look for that black gold in the ground." Turning to his men, he tells them to stow their equipment in the barn and join them up at the house.

At the ranch house, Jesse, Charlie, and Herr Karr move into the sitting room, the rest of the crew sits on the porch. Mamacita supplies all with coffee and is busy refilling cups as Mr. Karr begins to explain what he and his men are going to do.

"Herr Karr, before you get started I have one stipulation I would like to make."

"Yes, Mr. Scarburg, anything to satisfy you we will be more than willing to accommodate."

"It is only," said Jesse, "Two River's Valley has recently suffered a tragic prairie fire that wiped out a lot of the valley ranches. There are people in town willing to take advantage of our misfortune and are eager to purchase our ranches at below-market prices. If they get wind that oil might be involved that would make them that much more eager to obtain the land."

"Rest assured, Mr. Scarburg, dealing with oil must be a very secretive business. In fact, we will sign a non-disclosure agreement to place your mind at ease. We will go about our business as clandestine as possible, remember the oil business is a dog-eat-dog, cut-throat enterprise. The less one knows, the better. May I speak to you alone outside, Mr. Scarburg?"

"No need, Herr Karr, anything you need to say can be said to my brother and me. We have no secrets from each other."

Mr. Karr moves up close to Jesse and speaks softly, "If another oil company gets wind we're working this Valley they will move in like a bunch of vultures. However, I must warn you, the United Oil Geophysical Engineering Company of San Antonio is only the exploratory subsidiary of the big United Oil Company. I do not trust the men in the home office, they are greedy, and will stoop to any means to obtain oil leases. Be very careful of them. I even suspect men on my crew are more loyal to them than to the Geophysical Engineering Company. Trust no one. "

"Thank you, Sir, that makes me feel much better. We will watch out for the United Oil Company's men." Said Jesse.

"How do you suggest we get started, Mr. Scarburg?" Mr. Karr asks.

"Sir, I think we should take a ride to the upper Two River's Valley and speak with a Mr. Rufus Abraham. He has a pond of oil on his ranch I think you would be very interested in seeing."

THE ABRAHAM RANCH

Riding up the trail towards the Abraham ranch Jesse couldn't help but notice the writing on the sides of the canvas covered wagons, 'The Texas Cattle Company.' "I see what you mean, Herr Karr, I suppose the oil business is pretty competitive. I guess the plan is the less someone knows, the better."

The ride from Jericho north to the Abraham ranch is over a day's journey. Around sundown, the traveling caravan pulls into a shady, spring-fed spot to camp out over night. A blazing fire is burning, and a big pot of son-of-a-gun stew hangs over the coals from an iron rod. A large, twenty cup, galvanized pot of coffee hangs from its wire handle percolating on the far end, emitting the most tantalizing aroma.

Lying on their horse blankets around the campfire Jesse questions Mr. Karr how his men will go about testing the ground for oil. Of course, he mentions at Mr. Abraham's ranch you can see the oil floating on top of the water, but what about other places where the oil isn't so obvious.

Herr Karr tries to explain using the least technical terms to describe how they utilize a portable seismograph to record the results of a dynamite charge set off underground.

"Wait a second, Sir, if you set off a charge of dynamite won't that alert folks for miles around? I don't see how this is keeping oil exploration a secret."

"No, no, Mr. Scarburg, we triangulate three seismographs around the area, at least a mile or two apart. We drill a deep hole and put in the dynamite and fire it off, all one will hear, even close up is a slight 'puff.' There is no loud dynamite explosion, and the seismographs will record the sound waves as they bounce through the earth. By measuring the distance from the detonation to the seismograph, we found that we can estimate subsurface geological formations based on the time it takes the elastic earth wave to travel from the shot point. It is as simple as that, Mr. Scarburg."

"Hmm, simple? Yeah, okay. Just let me know what your instruments indicate, I don't suppose I need to know anymore." He said turning over and pulling his saddle blanket tightly around his body.

Early the next morning Jesse and the oil men ride up to Rufus' cabin. "Hello inside! Rufus, it's Jesse Scarburg. Jesse Scarburg from the Jericho Ranch."

Opening the door, Rufus steps out onto the front porch, "Howdy, Jesse, y'all git down off your hosses and rest a spell. Who's these other fellers you've brung with you?"

Jess dismounts and explains to Rufus that these men are from the United Oil Geophysical Engineering Company of San Antone, and came to see his 'blackwater' pond. They are sworn to secrecy, and as can be seen, by the names on their wagons, they are pretending to be in the cattle business. If everything turns out as believed, these men are going to make him a very wealthy man.

Rufus agrees and leads Jesse and the group to his back forty to see the 'blackwater' pond. The oil men pull on the horse's reins to stop their wagons. Before the wagon wheels have stopped turning Herr Karr sees the pond of oil, and has jumped from the wagon to examine the 'blackwater' pool. He sticks his hand into the black sludge on the surface, smells and chuckles. "This is incredible, just incredible, I have never seen such water before. The earth around this Valley must be sitting on an ocean of oil. An ocean I say, Mr. Scarburg. I cannot wait to do my tests, incredible, incredible I say!"

His men unload their equipment and set up for the first seismographic test. A deep hole is drilled a few hundred yards from the pond, and two sticks of dynamite are slipped down into the round crevasse. Seismographs are positioned at separate locations around the pond at distances ranging up to one mile.

Everyone gathers behind one of the wagons as Herr Karr counts down, "Five, four, three, two, one, fire in the hole!" A slight thump sounds, and a fair amount of dust floats into the air, but that was about all.

"Must of not been no oil, with sech a small explosion," Rufus comments acting disappointed.

"Nah, wait Rufus. These guys have to read the lines on their pieces of paper on them machines to tell what just happened. I don't understand it either, but that's why these fellers are here, they know their stuff, just let them do it."

After the oil men retrieve the seismographic prints, they huddle around the tailgate of one of the wagons with a map spread out between them. They talk quite at first almost in a whisper, but their talk becomes louder and louder. Finally, they end with a round of 'hurrahs' and slaps on each other's back.

Hurrying over to the group Jesse is anxious to find out what, if anything, they have discovered. "Tell me! Tell me! Is it good or bad?"

"No," said Herr Karr, looking discouraged, "it's not good! His face then changes to a wide grin, "It's better than good, it's great. The discovery of this oil find is the biggest field found west of the Trinity River. Mr. Abraham, how much land do you own?"

"I has me four sections - two thousand five hundred and sixty acres."

"Mr. Abraham the United Oil Company is willing right now to offer you ten dollars an acre lease payment per year plus one dollar a barrel of oil produced from your land."

'No, no, I done told you fellers I ain't selling my land, ten dollars or not even for twenty dollars an acre!"

"Rufus, no! These men are not offering to buy your land they want to lease it for ten dollars an acre per year. Lease Rufus is the same as renting - you will still own the land, but they will pay you for the oil under it."

Rufus slips over closer to Jesse and quietly asks, "That's an awful lot of money Jesse, what does you think I's should do?"

"Rufus say you'll take twenty dollars an acre and two dollars a barrel."

Herr Karr countered with fifteen dollars an acre and a dollar and a half payment per barrel.

Rufus looked at Jesse, who nods his head in agreement. "It's a deal, Mr. Karr," said Rufus.

Walking back to their wagon Jesse and Mr. Karr talk. "Mr. Scarburg if your land measures out half this good you and your brothers are going to be very wealthy men. About half way down the valley we will take another seismic measurement, but the way this valley is formed I would be more than willing to say the whole valley sits on top of one of the biggest oil fields yet discovered."

"Herr Karr, my father left my brothers and me in pretty good financial shape, but with the addition of this oil money we might be able to lessen the financial burder of many people in need. Thank you for that. As you probably noticed during our ride from Jericho the valley has suffered a devastating fire. It has wiped out most of the ranches, and most of the owners have either outright sold their land or have sold options to sell it. We have until the 1st of the New Year, 1899 to get them out of this deal. The sell is all dependent upon the government building a hydroelectric dam at the junction of the Stephenson and Wolf Branches of the Brazos River down close to Jericho, our ranch. Mr. Stagg of the Valley Land Company has offered five dollars an acre for the rancher's land, and he will get as much as fifty dollars per acre when the government offers to buy it before they flood the valley. It is not right, Mr. Karr, and my brothers and I are going to take him down, we want to bankrupt this evil man."

"Good, the world is full of greedy, evil men, I hope you succeed," replied Herr Karr.

Chapter Forty-Eight

CAPTAIN CYRUS PEABODY

"Morning Mr. Hunt, Miss Pierce, Miss Maxwell. Hope you all had a pleasant weekend," Hank said tossing his coat on a chair as he enters his office. "Sorry to say, I spent my entire two days holed up in my apartment making connections over that Alexander Bell contraption to everyone I could think of in the War Department."

"Did you have any luck?" The secretary asks, "Using your new telephone?"

"No, not really. Everyone kept passing me off to someone else. I suppose we will start again today and see if maybe we can turn up someone who can help with the dam construction."

"Mr. Scarburg," said Miss Pierce, "do you know a Captain Cyrus Peabody?"

"No, I don't believe I do, but the name does sound somewhat familiar. Who is this Captain, and why is he important?"

"You weren't the only ones working this weekend, Sir. We three worked Saturday and Sunday, too. We tracked down Captain Peabody out on the golf links at Fort Belvoir Sunday morning. Maybe I should use his new rank, Major General Cyrus Peabody. He remembered you and called you the 'Cowboy Adjutant.' and laughed as he said it. Said he was a Captain when you knew him."

"Wait! Wait, Captain Peabody, Black-eyed Peabody we called him, later we just called him 'Sweet Pea.' He commanded 'G' for George company in Cuba. Yes, do I ever know him. So now he is a Major General, good for him, he was always a sharp soldier, what's he up to these days."

"Nothing much, he's just the head of the Corp of Engineers, that's all, and has full control of all the dam construction along all the rivers in the whole U. S. of A. Including some river named the Brazos and a dam somewhere in Texas!"

"Whoa, what news. Does Sweet Pea's office have one of those 'ring up' gadgets connected in Washington?"

"Sir, are you referring to Mr. Bell's telephone? Of course, most all offices have one installed as you found out this weekend. You know we live in modern times, this is the end of the 19th Century, you know."

"Great, connect me with the General on this telephone thing; I need to talk with my ole buddy, Sweet Pea."

"You will," said Hunt, "in person. At two o'clock this afternoon he will be here in your office. He has to be in Albany today to sign some government contracts with the state, and he said he would drop by and see you. Said you two had not met for a while."

THE MEETING

The clock in the outer office strikes two o'clock. The hour to meet the Director of the U. S. Army's Corp of Engineers is at hand. Hank is as nervous as he was that first time he met Alexandra in New Orleans. His palms are sweating; his mouth is dry, he cannot sit down and paces his office, he realizes how this meeting is so important.

A single knock on his door announces the General has arrived. 'Sir," said Mr. Hunt, "Major General Cyrus Peabody to see you, Sir."

"Send him right in, Mr. Hunt," Hank moves from his desk and meets the General half-way across the room. Sticking out his hand, "Sweet-pea, oh, excuse me General old habits die hard. Please take a seat, General."

"Yes, old habits do," the General cleared his throat, "it is so good to see you again Cowboy. How have things been with you?"

"Fine, fine, and I see by the stars on your shoulders you have been doing pretty well also."

"Oh, you know I have always been pretty much a politician, and it helps in Washington, and I was fortunate to receive a couple of promotions. Say, enough talk about me, your man suggested you have something important to talk to me about?"

"Sweet Pea, as you may recall I am from Texas."

"Yeah, Cowboy, as you reminded us a hundred times in Cuba," he said laughing.

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that, but my family lives on a ranch we call Jericho. Jericho is located in the Two River's Valley between the Stephenson and Wolf Branches of the Brazos River. This past summer a wildfire began in the upper Valley and destroyed all the grass, most of the ranch houses, the barns and the outbuilding. We have one unscrupulous local real-estate agent that somehow got wind that the Corp of Engineers was planning on building a hydroelectric dam on the Brazos River. This dam will flood the entire Two River's Valley.

He went from ranch to ranch buying options on their land at five dollars an acre, thinking you, the Corp of Engineers would pay him fifty dollar an acre later on. The majority of the ranchers living in Two River's Valley are second and third generation families. These ranches are the only homes they have ever known, and they are all they own.

Now I took it on my own and surveyed down the Brazos another twenty-five miles, and found there is a perfect valley that would make an excellent spot for your hydroelectric dam. This valley is unsettled and flooding it would not upset anyone. Most of that valley is dry washes, and wet weather gulley's without much grasslands; therefore, if flooded it would not upset the grazing of the wild buffalo or any other animals in the area. In fact, Sweet Pea, the area is so dry, a lake would provide good fresh water for many animals in that vicinity."

"Cowboy, your plan makes excellent sense, I'll have my engineers take another look at it. I don't see what moving the dam another twenty-five miles downstream would affect anything. You can consider it done."

"Sweet Pea, there's just one more thing. The announcement of the move must take place before the 1st day of the New Year 1899, or the transfer of the land to this cut-throat, land swindler automatically takes place."

"Don't worry I'll hang this real-estate dealer of yours out to dry for you. You've got my word Cowboy - good to see you again - take care."

"Thanks, Sweet Pea, thanks very much. You've saved a lot of ranchers their entire lives work."

Hank thanked his staff for the fine job they had done finding his old comrade, but he believed he should tell his boss, Mr. Roosevelt, about his meeting with General Peabody. He doesn't want the Governor to find out what he has been doing with the Corp of Engineers and let it bite Mr. Roosevelt in the butt.

GOVERNOR, MR. SCARBURG TO SEE YOU

"Come in, Hank, how's the new job going? Working with the Environmental Protection Agency, isn't it? Anything going on down there?"

"Yes, Governor, that's what I dropped in today to let you know what I have been doing. I didn't want it to jump up and blindside you."

"Jolly good, Hank, I've got plenty of time take a seat and fill me in."

For the next hour, Hank laid out the adventure getting the Corp of Engineer's dam moved down the Brazos River. He wanted Mr. Roosevelt to know all the details of his conniving to save the Two River's Valley. Once he finished, he said to the Governor, "I'm sorry, Sir, that I used my authority you gave me in the Environmental Protection Agency, I'm sure I overstepped my authorization a number of times."

"Didn't you tell me that there were many Indian painting in caves along the Stephenson Branch of the Brazos River, and isn't your job with the Environmental Protection Agency?"

"Yes, Sir it is."

"I am dee-lighted. It seems your Agency protected one of America's natural Indian artifacts for later generations to enjoy. I say that was a bloody good job. Oh, by the way how was old, Sweet Pea? Ornery and full of himself as always I suppose? No wonder they made him a general he was perfect for the job."

Chapter Forty-Nine

DYNAMITE DERBY

Coming down the Two River's Valley Mr. Karr stops at the ranch of Hiram Walker. Mr. Walker's ranch has been burned from north to south, the only signs are two red chimneys standing forlorn guard over the burnt remains of the ranch house. The hay barn is intact as are the outhouse and the large windmill that supplies drinking water.

Riding into the backyard, shaded by four enormous white oak trees, Hank dismounts and walks upon the sandstone back porch. At first, he thinks the place is deserted, the only noise he hears is his spurs jingling as he takes steps crossing the porch, and a couple of Blue Jays voicing their objection to his presence from a nearby tree. He is about to leave when a voice yells from the hallway of the barn - "What can I do for you fellers? Come on over to the barn. This barn is now our home away from home, so to speak."

Hank, leading Black Magic walks across the backyard to find Mr. Walker, his wife Beth and their two sons standing in the doorway of the barn. "Howdy, Mr. Walker, good to see you all again."

"Good to see you again too, Mr. Scarburg, wasn't expecting you back so soon after your last visit. Again, we sure do appreciate you lending us that thousand dollars until spring. And we sure can use those cows and bulls when the grass begins to grow again."

"Sure thing, Mr. Walker, as I said before the Scarburgs are going to do everything in our power to get you back on your feet. And we're glad to do it. But right now I might have some more good news for you. Can we come inside the barn to explain?"

"Forgive my manners, of course, come on it. We don't have much, but pull up a hay bale and make yourselves at home. What little we have left you're welcome to it."

Hank and Mr. Karr remove their hats and walk into the cool, darkness of the barn. The smell of hay and horses greet them as they enter. Mr. Karr shakes Mr. Walker's hand and introduces himself. Most of the men of United Oil Geophysical Engineering Company either stay in the wagons or find other places to sit outside in the shade of the giant oak trees.

"I see," said Mr. Walker, "by the sign on your wagon you are with the Texas Cattle Company, Mr. Karr. I'm sorry, as Mr. Scarburg can tell you we are not in need of cattle at this time. Mr. Scarburg has graciously provided enough money to outfit us through the winter and come spring he said he will help get us back on our feet using some of his cattle and bulls. Even standing here in his presence I must say it takes a big man to do what he and his brothers are doing for the folks of Two River's Valley."

"Yes, Sir, Mr. Walker, I totally agree with your assessment of the Scarburg men, but, Sir I'm afraid they have something even greater to give you."

"Greater? Why, Sir, there couldn't be much more they could give that they haven't already given."

"Mr. Walker, the Scarburgs discovered something in this valley that is going to make a burned out house, destroyed grass and a few heads of cattle seem like mere playthings to you in a couple of years."

"Mr. Walker, that is our whole life you're talking about."

"Sir, the Scarburgs have discovered Two River's Valley is sitting on an ocean of oil. Oil, Sir, an ocean of black gold."

"Oil? Oil, right here under my land?"

"Mr. Walker, with your permission, we of the United Oil Geophysical Engineering Company are going to take some tests to determine if you are indeed sitting on a sea of liquid gold. The Texas Cattle Company signs are merely to keep curious people from knowing what we are really all about. With your permission we would like to conduct some surveys of your land."

"Tests? Surveys? Oil? Yes, Sir do what you will, you can't damage this ranch no more than it has already been hurt."

The sun is setting in the west as the surveyors and Hank come riding back to the barn from doing the seismic testing throughout the afternoon.

Mr. Walker's sons have a smoldering fire going, and Beth has a large iron pot of rabbit stew simmering, and biscuits baking in a Dutch oven nestled in the hot coals awaiting the men's return.

Mr. Walker meets them at the barn door. "I can see by the look in your eyes you did not discover any oil under my ranch, oh well, can't lose something I never had. Come on in an eat a hearty supper anyway."

As he sits on a bale of hay with a bowl of stew in his hand, Mr. Karr is playing Mr. Walker for all it's worth. "I'll have to tell you, Mr. Walker, you have a wonderful spread here, once the grass comes back in the spring and you have a nice herd of cattle grazing over the hills along with all the blooming flowers your ranch will be a showplace. The only thing that will seem out of place will be all those oil wells pumping up and down all over your ranch."

"What? Oil wells you say?"

"We were just leading you along and teasing with you, Sir. Your land is floating in oil, Mr. Walker. You are going to be a very rich man. We are prepared to lease your land, all three thousand acres of it, at the rate of ten dollars an acre per year and once we drill the oil wells you will get a dollar for each barrel we pump out."

Hank, sitting on a bale of hay exclaims with a loud "Humm!"

"What I meant to say, Mr. Walker was, we will give you fifteen dollars an acre as a lease and one dollar and one half per barrel pumped."

"Why, Mr. Karr, that is a generous sum. Can you give us an approximate amount of oil a well will produce?" Mr. Walker asks.

"Mr. Walker, just a guess, but I think your oil wells will produce at least four-hundred barrels per day, so you should make roughly six hundred dollars per well per day. And I do not see why you cannot be pumping twenty to thirty wells if not more."

"Beth," said Hiram, "he's saying we will be making six hundred dollars a day. We have never seen such money."

"That is per oil well, Mr. Walker, six hundred dollars for each well," interjected Mr. Karr. "But folks you must be careful, Mr. Scarburg has told me about your option to sell your land to Mr. Stagg by the 1st of January 1899. Do not let him know about the oil."

Chapter Fifty

THE DAM CANCELLATION

It is the middle of December 1898. Mr. Stagg sits in his elegant office in the 1st National Bank of San Antonio worried. Christmas is at hand, and the deadline on all the land notes will become due a week later on the first of January 1899,

He leaves his office and walks down the shiny, mahogany floors to see the bank president Mr. Benjamin Stone. Mr. Stone wears two hats: he is the president of the bank, and he also serves as Mayor of the great city of San Antonio, Texas.

A few months earlier as Mayor, he had received a telegram from Washington, D. C. giving the Mayor's office a heads up on plans the Corps of Engineers had for the construction of a new hydroelectric dam on the Brazos River. The creation of this dam would provide electrical power for this whole section of south-central Texas. As yet, no official designation had been decided where the dam should be constructed.

If the truth had been known the Colonel in charge of the dam's construction, Colonel Phillip Kenney, wasn't an engineer at all; he was an Indian fighter and a cavalryman at that. The only thing Colonel Kenney thought a dam was good for was a place to water his horse. He and Mr. Stagg had been in Mayor Stone's office the morning the telegram arrived from Washington informing the Mayor the government intended to build a hydroelectric dam on the Brazos.

Stagg and Colonel Kenney have discussed the trials and tribulations of an Army officer's pay. In the year 1898, the base pay for a full colonel with over twenty years' service time is only four hundred sixteen dollars a month. A pension for the colonel would be roughly two hundred dollars per month. With this amount of money, it is not hard for Mr. Stagg to convince Colonel Kenney the way to set himself up for a nice retirement is to build the hydroelectric dam at the mouth of the Stephenson and Wolf Branches. His idea is to set a fire in the upper Valley that would consume all the grass down to the Brazos rendering the ranches valueless. Mr. Stagg will then buy the Two River's Valley land at five dollars an acre and when the dam is announced sell it back to the government at fifty dollars an acre. Profits will be divided with Colonel Kenney. Colonel Kenney and Mr. Stagg believed this to be a perfect plan; however, now Christmas is nearing and New Year's Day is just around the corner, yet no official word on the dam's construction has been received from the Corp of Engineer's Headquarters in Washington.

MEETING WITH THE MAYOR

This morning as Mr. Stagg hurries down the corridor to the Mayor's office this situation is foremost on the real-estate agent's mind. Storming into the Mayor's office, Mr. Stagg demands the Mayor contact Washington and determine what the holdup is on the dam.

"Funny thing you should pick this day to demand an explanation from the Corp of Engineers in D.C., for I have just received a telegram from them."

"What does it say, Mayor," Mr. Stagg said nervously, "What is in the telegram."

"The Corp states sometime between Christmas and New Year's day they are going to make a final decision on the dam."

"What! What are they saying, 'they are going to make a final decision on the dam.' A final decision? I was under the impression that the decision has already been made and the construction of the dam is cut and dried. I thought all we are waiting on is Washington's official announcement of the date the dam's construction would begin."

GENERAL PEABODY'S D. C. OFFICE

"General, there is a Mr. Hank Scarburg in your outer office who said he needs to see you."

"Cowboy, yes, send him right in Mrs. Dunn. I have been expecting him."

"Right this way, Sir, the General will see you now."

"Cowboy, how good to see you again, come on in and take a load off." Opening a box of cigars, "What about a smoke Cowboy? How does a finger or two of Cuban rum sound?"

"Thanks, Sweet Pea, I'm good. I just dropped by to make sure the telegram canceling the Two River's Valley hydroelectric dam was sent. It is December 28th, and the 1st of January is quickly approaching. The dam must be stopped before New Year's day or the ranchers will lose their land."

"Right you are, Hank; it has completely slipped my mind," speaking loudly to the outer office, "Mrs. Dunn, would you please come in here and bring your pad and pencil."

"Yes, General, I am ready," she said sitting down in the chair next to his desk.

"Send a telegram, immediately, to Mr. Benjamin Stone, the Mayor of San Antonio, Texas, it to read as follows:

HONORABLE MAYOR STONE

SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS

IT IS WITH REGRETS \- stop - DAM PROPOSED FOR THE JUNCTION OF THE STEPHENSON AND WOLF CREEK \- stop - IS HEREBY CANCELED \- stop - THE NEW SITE WILL BE APP TWENTY MILES DOWNSTREAM ON THE BRAZOS RIVER \- stop - AT A PLACE NAMED - RATTLESNAKE CANYON. \- stop - WORK ON NEW LOCATION WILL BEGIN IMMEDIATELY \- stop- REGARDS etc., etc.

Send it out immediately Mrs. Dunn without delay."

"Yes right away, General," replied Mrs. Dunn.

"One other thing. Send a telegram to Major General Wright, Commanding General, Headquarters, Texas Corp of Engineers:

GENERAL CUT ORDERS TO IMMEDIATELY TRANSFER COLONEL PHILLIP KENNEY YOUR DUTY STATION - stop \- TO DUTY STATION FORT RICHARDSON, ALASKA - stop \- UPON ARRIVAL ALASKA HAVE MPS ARREST SAID COLONEL - stop \- ARRANGE FOR SPECIAL COURTS-MARTIAL BE CONVENED - stop \- COLONEL IS TO BE TRIED FOR THEFT, MISUSE OF GOVERNMENT PROPERTY, UNAUTHORIZED USE OF HIS GOVERNMENT AUTHORITY AND FAILURE TO PERFORM HIS DUTIES IN THE HIGHEST FORM OF THE MILITARY TRADITION - stop \- A JAG OFFICER WILL BE ASSIGNED FROM HQ, WASHINGTON, TO HANDLE PROSECUTION - stop \- REGARDS etc., etc.

"When you say you're going to hang Mr. Stagg out to dry, I believe you meant what you said. How did you know about Colonel Kenney, Sweet Pea?"

"That was obvious, Colonel Kenney was merely a cavalryman, never was an engineer. He made too many apparent judgment errors. It was obvious that any good engineer officer would know he was taking kickbacks to get that dam built at the junction of the Stephenson and Wolf Creeks. Command should never have assigned him in the first place."

"Thanks, Sweet Pea...General Peabody."

"You're welcome, Cowboy...Mr. Scarburg."

Chapter Fifty-One

DECISION DAY

It is the 2nd day of January 1899. Four men leave the Governor's office walking down the hall toward the office of Mr. Stagg. They do not speak; the only sound is the clicking of their boot heels on the marble floor and the jingling of their silver spurs. One of the men is holding a piece of folded yellow paper in his hand. Another has a cardboard box full of documents. The third man carries a large metal trashcan. The final one, has a can of kerosene, and they all walk with a determined look in their eyes.

Reaching the office of Mr. Stagg, they do not hesitate to knock, they open the door and walk in. The receptionist jumps from her desk and begins to protest, but the men brush past her into Mr. Stagg's inner office.

"What is the meaning of this Governor, and why have you brought the three Scarburg brothers with you?"

"Hank is holding a box full of all the land papers you and that crooked Colonel Kenney cheated from the people of the Two River's Valley, and I hold in my hand a telegram from the Corps of Engineers in Washington."

"Let me see that telegram," Stagg demands.

Stagg stood reading and re-reading the cancellation of the Stephenson and Wolf hydroelectric dam. "This can't be true," yelling to Charlotte in his outer office, "Charlotte, find me Colonel Kenney, I need to speak to him right away."

"I'm afraid Stagg," said the Governor, "you'll find him on a train somewhere around Montana or Wyoming, being escorted by two Military Policemen."

"What? What are you talking about, Governor?"

"It's like this Stagg; Colonel Kenney has been transferred to Alaska to await courts-martial in the land fraud both of you tried to pull on the people of Two River's Valley." Hank here has come all the way from Washington just to see the look on your face today, "Hank, the floor is all yours."

LIGHT THE FIRE

Charlie sits the metal trashcan in the middle of the room, Hank empties the box of rancher's Quit Claim deeds, promissory notes, and land options into it, and Jesse douses the whole mess with kerosene. The Governor strikes a match and tosses it into the pile of papers. The entire kit-and-caboodle goes up in one mighty leap of flames, along with Mr. Stagg's ranch, all his property, and his life's saving. Hank is holding the deed to Mr. Stagg's mansion in his hand. "Sign your John Hancock right here on the bottom line transferring your San Antone home to me." Mr. Stagg signs the deed. He has instantly gone from being king of the mountain to one of the serf's tilling the soil.

"I don't understand; I just don't... how did you all know?"

"We may be just an ignorant bunch of ranchers, Mr. Stagg, but ignorance doesn't equate to stupidity. The next time you try to swindle someone make sure you are smarter than they are, oh, and may I add that will be a few years from now," said Hank. "He's all yours Governor."

The Governor motions to the door. In comes two of the most massive Texas Rangers God has ever made. They place Mr. Stagg's hands behind his back and handcuff them tightly. The Governor said, "Mr. Stagg you are hereby under arrest for land fraud, bank securities manipulation, theft of money and for just being a general all around good for nothing. Take him away gentlemen."

Chapter Fifty-Two

VICE-PRESIDENT ROOSEVELT

"Knocking on Mr. Roosevelt's door, Hank sticks his head inside and asks, "You want to see me, Governor?"

"Yes, I do, Hank, come in and pull up a seat. How about one of my Cuban's?"

"You know, Sir, I have always turned down your invitation for one of your cigars, but you know today I feel something important is going to happen, so I'll gladly accept your old stogie, this one time. What do you have on your mind, Sir."

"Vice-President Garret Hobart has died, and the New York state Republican committee has convinced me to run with President McKinley as his Vice-President on the Republican ticket in 1900. I believe I am going to do it. I want to know if you will still be with me."

"You know, Mr. Roosevelt, I go wherever you lead, even up that bloody hill in Cuba."

"Jolly good, my Texas cowboy friend, jolly good, and you did a damn fine job down there too. I don't know what kind of job you and I can do, but I'm glad we're going to do it together."

The McKinley-Roosevelt ticket won by a landslide. Hank did not have an official job other than being a first-hand man to the Vice-President when Roosevelt took office in March 1901.

Later in autumn on 6 September President McKinley was attending the Pan American Exposition in Buffalo, New York when Leon Czolgosz, a Polish immigrant, shoots him twice in the stomach.

PRESIDENT McKINLEY DIES

Vice-President Roosevelt has been on vacation in Vermont. He travels to the hospital in Buffalo to check on the President. The doctors think the President is recuperating and on his way to recovery, so Roosevelt returns to his vacation; however, President McKinley takes a turn for the worse and dies eight days later on 14 September of gangrene. Roosevelt is on his way back to Buffalo when news reaches him that the President is dead. He takes the oath of office in Buffalo at the Ansley Wilcox House. The assassin claimed to have killed McKinley because he was the head of what Czolgosz thought was a corrupt government. Czolgosz was convicted and executed in an electric chair on October 29, 1901.

PRESIDENT THEODORE ROOSEVELT

Forty-two-year-old, Theodore Roosevelt Jr. is now the 26th and the youngest President of the United States.

The days following the assassination of President McKinley are hectic times in Washington. On September the 16th President McKinley's casket is transported by train to his hometown of Canton, Ohio where he is buried.

Days and weeks later things return to some extent normal operations in the nation's capital. President Roosevelt summons Hank to the Oval Office in the White House.

"I'm sorry, Hank that I haven't had you up to the White House before now."

"Not to worry, Mr. President, I know this has been a very trying time for you. You do not owe me an apology, you know I am here to assist you in any way I possibly can."

"Hank, as President, you know I have to make many appointments. You have, since our time in Cuba, been a tremendous help to me. I would like for you to continue serving your country and especially standing by my side. I know you have the large Jericho Ranch in Texas, and I hope you will be able to return to your ranch in a short time, but for now, I would like you to assume the duties of the Assistant Secretary of the Interior in charge of Indian Affairs. I know you are interested in the Indians and their well-being. I also know how you want to protect the environment. You have so many important ideas concerning the native people of this land, you are aware of their struggles and how the government should work with them, not against them. Please accept the position of the Director for Indian Affairs under the Secretary of the Interior. You are the best man for the job."

"Of course, Mr. President, my first allegiance is to my country and second to you, and I will be more than willing to accept the position. My only stipulation is once the situation within your administration is up and running smoothly I would like to return to the Jericho Ranch, and to Alexandra my girl in San Antone."

OFFICE OF INDIAN AFFAIRS

The very first thing Hank does his first day on his new job is call a meeting of his four deputy bureau directors. "Gentlemen, please make yourself comfortable. Does anyone need coffee? Water? If not, let me introduce myself - I am Haskell Scarburg but prefer you call me Hank. I am new to this position, but I am not new to the lives and conditions of the Indian nations. In fact, I have a brother who was adopted by my mother and father as a young Comanche. His tribe attacked our ranch and once they were driven off little Charlie, as he was named, was left abandoned on the field of battle. Many of the Comanche were killed during the fight, including some of the women. My mother and father never knew Charlie's mother, and she may have been one of the Indians killed, we will never know.

I'm telling you this to say I am not a total stranger to the Indian tribes, my ranch Jericho is located in the heart of Texas and has been surrounded by the Apache and Comanche tribes since my grandfather or Poppa as I call him, settled the Jericho Ranch right after the Civil War. Off and on until peace with the tribes, Jericho was constantly at war with the Indian Nations. In fact, on that fateful Sunday morning in June 1870 my Poppa was killed in the Comanche attack on Jericho.

As I said earlier, Charlie my brother is a full-blood Comanche, but our family has embraced him as a member of our family since he was a small child. He has been raised in a white family, and we have learned as much about his Indian traditions as he has learned of the white race. He and I are about the same age, we cannot be quite sure of his birthday, but our family has always referred to us as 'the twins.' Regardless of race, he is indeed my Brother, and I love him as such. In love, I call him my little Coe-manch.

I said all this to emphasis I may be inexperienced as the Director of Indian Affairs, but I am not inexperienced in dealing with the Indians of our western territories. I know their wants, needs, and desires, and with your help, we will strive to uplift these beautiful people to a level equal with the rest of the American population.

A few years ago my brothers and I left Texas heading to the northern plains. Our mission was to obtain Indian ponies to breed with the Quarter horses of our Jericho Ranch. During our journey from Texas to North Dakota, we encountered Apache, Blackfeet, Cheyenne, Crow, Navajo, Pueblo, Shoshone, Sioux, and Ute among dozens of other tribes. We became familiar with their languages, living conditions, and cultures. I believe as the Director of Indian Affairs I am more familiar with the tribes of our western lands than many of your past directors. I think President Roosevelt assigned me to this post knowing all about my past, and with your help, I believe we can do some good things for our Native Americans."

Chapter Fifty-Three

THE RETURN TO JERICHO

"It sure is good to see you again, Brother," said Jesse. You have been in Washington City too long, doing your civic duty. It's good to see you have returned home. Who is this gentleman you brought with you?"

"Let me introduce my good friend and office manager at the Bureau of Indian Affairs, Mr. Robert Galloway. He was born and raised on Cape Cod in the seacoast town of Onset, Massachusetts, a small sleepy town on Buzzard's Bay right on the Atlantic Ocean. He has never been farther west than Pennsylvania. He comes from a family of fishermen, so I thought a trip out west would be good exposure for his work in the Indian Affairs office back in Washington. In fact, I don't believe Robert has ever seen a real Indian."

"Now you have seen one, Mr. Galloway," said Charlie.

"Precisely," said Jesse laughing, "Bob the first thing we're going to do is shed that three-piece suit and dude you up with some fine Texas cowboy clothes. And don't pay any attention to Charlie, he's not really an Indian."

"Sez who?" Charlie replies pouting. "I am too! I may be a white man according to my family, but Comanche blood runs through my veins."

"You don't know how good it feels to be home, oh, by the way, what are those men doing out by the Jericho Gate?"

"Hank, you are such a celebrity in these parts, the people with the new-fangled telephones have decided to run a line to us so we can have our own telephone out here. However, not just our own, we're on a party line with five other ranches, but that's better than nothing."

"Jesse, I'm so glad. Now I can talk with y'all without having to send a telegram. When will it be installed."

"I have been out there watching their every move," said Charlie, "and the foreman tells me he should place the last pole today and have the telephone installed and working tomorrow."

Hank, it's good to see you, but I know you. What is the real reason you have come home? You are up to something, what is it?"

"Charlie, the President has appointed me Director for Indian Affairs under the Secretary of the Interior, and I want to go personally and visit with the Apache and Comanche tribes that live past the upper Two River's Valley.

Jesse how is the oil exploration in the Valley coming along?" Grinning he adds, "I haven't seen any money coming my way."

"Slow, Hank, slow. I thought we would cover the Valley with oil exploration, find the oil, and then start pumping and spending the money. Ha, what a joke, there are more rules and regulations concerning this oil production than there are words in the dictionary. I don't know how a barrel of oil can ever get pumped out of the ground." And he adds, "Director of Indian Affairs, wow, Hank, that is something. I always knew you had it in you for bigger and better things, congratulations."

"Thanks, Jesse, when I get back to Washington I will sit down with the President and discuss this problem with him. I know he has an interest in the anti-trust aspects of the United Oil Company. I believe I can talk to him about the Valley's oil production. Hopefully, this will get it off the ground and the ranchers of the Valley will start benefitting."

"That sounds great, Hank, but if we're going to see any funds out of the oil in the next five years, it going to take action by President Roosevelt, soon. I hope you can get him to do something. In the meantime what can we do to help you with the Indians in the upper Two River's Valley."

"I'd like to take a few days and clean my small, juvenile brain from all the Washington garbage. I'd like to put on my jeans, my cowboy boots, my ole trusty .44 Colt and my Stetson. I'd like to get Black Magic out and work his kinks out. For a few days, I would like to feel like a rancher again. I also want to spend some time with Alexandra. I am going to ask her to marry me, and I want her to go to the Flagg mansion in San Antone and begin redecorating it to suit her fancy. I want it to be her city home, and when the oil money begins to roll in, I intend to build us a ranch home right here on Jericho, if that would be agreeable with you and Charlie. If, and when, we have children I want them to grow up right here where the three of us have always lived. And when they bury us, I want to be right over there in our family cemetery where Ma and Pa, Poppa and Mama Scarburg, Joe and Margarita, and our ranch hands that those outlaws killed are all buried. Even if dead, I want to be close to the family that loved us."

"Yeah, I know how you feel, Brother. Although you ought to know without us saying it, Charlie and I would be proud to have you and Alexandra as close neighbors here on Jericho."

"Thanks, Jess, you mentioned how you would help with the upper Valley Indians. In a week or so, I want you, Charlie and Robert to ride with me to their villages and have a sit-down with the Chiefs. I want them to understand that Robert and I are the men in Washington who are going to see to their problems. I want them to know I am a Two River's Valley man just like them. I don't want to be just another name in Washington, I want to be known as their next-door neighbor, and someone who will listen to them, not just pass them off as the Man far, far away."

"Sure, Hank, anything else we can do?"

"Yeah, just one. When Robert and I got off the train in San Antone, we rented one of those new Ford horseless carriages to drive out here to Jericho. When we go to the upper Two River's Valley to meet the Indians, I'm afraid that old Ford won't be able to cross the creeks, canyons, draws, and rocks of the rough trail. We will need to go by horseback, but Bob has never ridden a horse, so, Charlie, I would like you to pick out a gentle mare for him and teach him how to sit a saddle before we go to meet the Chiefs."

"Right, Hank," Charlie answered with a glint in his eye. "I know just the perfect horse for him."

"Now, Charlie, I know you, don't be putting Robert on one of our bucking broncos. He needs something gentle and easy to ride. I can't afford to have him all stove up before we leave to go see the Chiefs."

"Sure, Hank, I was just going to have a little fun with him, but I will make sure he gets one of our best mares, and," slapping Robert on the shoulder, "I will teach this 'greenhorn' how to be a 'real' cowboy."

100 MAYOR'S DRIVE

Riding Black Magic from Jericho is exhilarating. It has been a long time since Hank has gotten on a horse and just rode with the wind blowing through his hair and the smell of a horse sweating beneath his body. The distance from Jericho to San Antone is quite a long ride, but Hank has been enjoying it so much it was over too quickly.

He hitches Black Magic to the rail at the Governor's front gate, removes his hat and uses it to knock the road dust from his clothes. He nervously stands for a moment gazing at the long brick sidewalk that lies like a line to the series of steps that lead to the immaculately white painted Victorian-era porch. Why is he so nervous? He has not let Alexandra know he is arriving; he wants to make it a surprise. Now he thinks, perhaps this isn't such a good idea. He has been gone a long time. He knew they had stayed in touch by the letters they have written to each other, but did she have the same feeling for him as she did when he left?

Apprehension is what he senses. He feels inside his coat pocket, yes the ring is still there. The ring was his grandmother's. She had given it to him many years ago anticipating this day and the joy she thought it would bring both to her grandson and his bride to be.

He stands motionless at the gate long enough. Even Black Magic is beginning to get restless, he is shuffling around and snorting. Move Hank instructs his feet, march up the walk, ascend the steps, cross the porch and knock on the door. It is that simple. Simple to think, but not so simple to do.

Somehow, he finds himself standing at the entrance door. He commands his hand to pull the brass knocker on the door. 'Rasp, rasp,' he is knocking, now what?

He can hear someone approaching from within the house. Aunt Sally slowly opens the door to see who is outside knocking, and, seeing who it is, opens the door entirely and shouts, "Why Lord have mercy if it ain't Mr. Hank. It shore has been some time since youse graced this here door, 'suppose you come to see Miss Alex?"

"Aunt Sally, it's good to see you again. And yes, I've been working in Washington with the President of the United States, so I have not had much time for socializing, but I would much indeed like to see Miss Alex."

"Step yerself into the parlor, Mr. Hank, and I'll go get her."

Hank walks into the sitting room but does not feel comfortable enough to sit. He stands in the middle of the room, clutching his white Stetson tightly in his hands. His mind is racing, what will she say, what will...the parlor door opens and in walks the most beautiful creature upon which Hank has ever set his eyes.

It is Alexandra.

She is wearing a full-length light green dress which beautifully accents her emerald green eyes. Her silken, black hair cascades down her shoulders in majestic curls that seem to go on forever.

"Hank! Is it you! Really you!" Alex said running across the room into his outstretched arms. "Aunt Sally said I had a visitor, but I never dreamed it was you, oh Hank," she said as he picks her up kissing her passionately. "Oh, Hank, my love. Why did you not tell me you were coming?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise, Alex. There is something special I want to ask you."

"Something to ask me?"

"Yes," Hank fumbles around in his pocket trying to remove the box with the ring.

Kneeling down on one knee, "Alexandra Anastasia Stone," he said, opening the box, "I would like you to be my wife, will you marry me? I have loved you since the very first time I saw you in New Orleans. I have always wanted you to be my wife if you will have me."

"What a silly question, Haskell Edward Scarburg, of course, I will marry you. But Hank why did it take you so long to ask me?"

The parlor door burst open, and Aunt Sally runs into the room, because she has been eavesdropping, "Oh, honeychild, I is so happy for the two of youse. Miss Alex and Mr. Hank, what a wonderful pair, I is never been so happy," she said removing a hankie from her pocket and blotting a tear from her eye.

"Please, Alex take a seat on the settee we must talk."

Hank describes his job as the Director for Indian Affairs under the Secretary of the Interior. He tells her he must return to Washington until President Roosevelt gets his administration up and running smoothly. He makes sure she realizes the Stagg mansion belongs to them, and she can begin redecorating it as soon as she wishes. Hank further explains about the oil reserves underneath Two River's Valley and the problems concerning getting the oil pumped. He tells Alex President Roosevelt is already concerned with United Oil and once he returns to Washington, he and the President are going to have a serious talk about the oil.

He asks if the Stagg mansion could be used as their city house, but once the oil money begins to come in, he wants to know if she would be agreeable to building a new home at Jericho. He knows she had always been a city girl, but will she consider becoming a rancher's wife. He said he wants their children to grow up out in the wide open spaces and not be corralled into some small area in the city. Of course, Alex readily agrees. As far as wedding plans, he tells Alex that is entirely up to her, the date will, of course, depend upon how things go in Washington.
Chapter Fifty-Four

THE INDIAN CHIEFS

"Is everything ready to leave tomorrow morning on our trip to go meet with the Indian Chiefs?"

"Hank," Jesse said, "we've packed a mule with all the supplies we might need, and Charlie has been working with Robert on his cowboying skills. I'm afraid to say he still needs a bit of work, but we believe he will make do."

"Mr. Scarburg," said Robert, "I have always seen people riding horses, and it seemed so simple and easy. May I say it is not. Perhaps I should stay here at Jericho and wait for your return; I do not want to hold you up or be a hindrance."

"Bob, first while we are here on the wide-open plains my name is Hank, back in Washington Mr. Scarburg will be fine. Second, the reason I got you to come on this trip was for your exposure to the lands west of Washington and to get you to meet some of your clients, real American Indians, and I don't mean Charlie, he doesn't count."

"What? What you talking about, Brother," replies Charlie. "Me heap big Injun, me be as Injun as they come." He said mocking Hank

"Yeah, I know you ole Coe-manch. You haven't been an Indian since the day Pa found you. You're as American as Jesse and me, so knock off this 'heap big Injun' stuff. We know who you are - you're our Brother, plain and simple. Don't listen to him, Robert; all Indians are a little crazy."

"I thought you just said I was not a real Indian? Which way is it?"

LATE THE NEXT DAY

"Pull up there, Charlie, next to that stream and under that big ole oak tree. We'll make camp here tonight."

Charlie has a fire going, a big pot of coffee brewing and some son-of-a-gun stew cooking. "Say, Bob have you ever been camping?" Asks Jesse.

"Camping? No, the closest I ever came to being outdoors was one year Dad sent me to the Adirondack's in upstate New York to summer camp. One night the counselors built a large campfire, and we roasted hotdogs and marshmallows. I can still remember the smell of the fire and the beauty of the stars overhead, but we didn't get to sleep on the ground, we had to go back inside to our bunks in the cabins."

After they had eaten their supper, Jesse speaks to Bob again, "Remember your trip to summer camp?"

"Yeah, I sure do."

"Remember the stars you saw that night? Look up. Did the stars you saw in New York look anything like these stars in Texas?"

Bob looks up, and the heavens are blanketed with stars, so many it would have been impossible even to try to count. He sits there staring up at the sky in amazement, "No, those stars that night were nothing to compare to these. I don't believe I will ever forget this picture."

"Finish your coffee and turn in we will get an early start tomorrow. We should get to the first Indian village somewhere around noon. We will meet with Chief Howling Coyote. He is an Apache, but his clan has not been hostile to the white man in at least a decade. They are a poor band that barely subsists on the handouts from the government agents. These Indians are what I want you to experience firsthand."

MEETING THE APACHE

Hank was correct in the arrival time in the Apache village. As the four of them amble into the center of the village small Indian youngsters gang around them with their hands outstretched. Charlie has anticipated this arrival and removes a small bag of hard candy from his saddlebag. He begins passing out the sweets to the joyful pleasure of all the Indian kids. Bob watches with interest as something as a simple piece of candy creates such joy to the small Indian boys and girls.

CHIEF HOWLING COYOTE

Arriving at the Chief's lodge they dismount and await Chief Howling Coyote's appearance. He steps from the tent and motions them inside. The walls of the tepee are lined with buffalo skins and skins of other animals that are unidentifiable. Jesse, Hank, and Charlie take seats on the ground around a small fire in the center of the tepee. Bob stands by the entrance flap debating whether to enter or not, for the stench is unbearable. How can anyone breathe, let alone live in such a horrible place, he thinks? Hank turns to Bob and motions him to sit next to him. Bob reluctantly sits down.

The Chief is handed a long pipe filled with tobacco. He takes a glowing ember from the fire and lights the end of the pipe. He draws a lungful of tobacco smoke and passes the pipe to Jesse who does the same. On around the circle, the pipe is passed until it reaches Bob. Bob holds the pipe, looking at the end where countless hundreds of others have deposited their spit and decides he does not want to suck on such a distasteful device. He starts to hand it back to Hank, but Hank looks at him with a stern frown and slowly shakes his head. Bob hesitantly places the pipe to his mouth and sucks in a lungful of smoke. In between Bob's coughing and gagging the Chief points to Robert and emits an enormous belly laugh. Jesse, Hank, and Charlie all laugh too.

"Now," said Chief Howling Coyote, "what bring my white brothers to Chief's village?"

"Chief Howling Coyote, I come to let you meet the young, coughing, white man who represents you in White Chief's Washington. His name is Robert, and I, Hank Scarburg am his Chief. We want to let you know you have someone who lives on the south end of Two River's Valley that will see after your needs."

"Good," said the Chief, "take 'em good look at last handout from Indian government agent." He points to one of the Indians standing inside the tepee. The Indian drags a large bag of beans out and opens it up exposing the contents inside. The Chief reaches in and grabs a handful of beans and shows them to his guests. The beans are crawling with weevils. "We like 'em meat, but not with beans."

The brave brings in a canned ham and opens it. The smell is disgusting, "This," said Chief, "is your government's idea of good meat. We cannot eat, must feed to dogs. Dogs sometimes will not eat."

Bob sitting on the edge of the floor mat shakes his head, "Hank, I see what you mean now, I am so glad you made me come with you. I would never have been able to understand the plight of the Indians until I saw this."

"Not through," said Chief, again motioning to the Indian brave. He hands each man a woolen blanket. "These supplied by your government agent man." Each blanket is worn out, ripped and moth-eaten. "Only good for dog to sleep on," said Chief Howling Coyote.

"Chief, Bob and I will return to big Chief in Washington and tell him how bad the Indian agents are treating you. I promise you, Howling Coyote I am in a position in the white man's world to do something about these conditions, and, trust me, I will. Let me ask about your land and the oil surveys that the United Oil Company did. What did they say to you."

"Them say oil is not Indians. Indians live on government land so oil must belong to white man. Indians no get oil from ground."

"Chief," said Hank, "this is not right. The land that you live on is a government reservation; it belongs to you, not the government. Let me look into this too when we return to Washington City, and I assure you, they are not going to cheat you out of your oil rights."

MEETING THE COMANCHE

The brothers and Bob, say goodbye to Howling Coyote and leave the Apache village, their next stop is with the Comanche. It is late in the afternoon when the men finish their talk with Chief Howling Coyote. The men will not reach the Comanche village until the next day, so another night camping under the stars is in order.

As the sun is dropping behind the western horizon, they find a suitable campsite, a fire started and this time a hind quarter of a deer supplied by the Apache chief is roasting over the hot embers. As the men sit around the fire drinking Charlie's coffee the smell of the venison meat is tantalizing to their nose, they can hardly wait for the meat to get done.

"Hank," asks Bob, "are all the Native Tribes treated as badly as those Apaches we just left?"

"No," replied Hank, "many are treated much worse. Seeing the Chiefs is why I wanted you to get out of Washington and observe for yourself how the Tribes are being mistreated. Now, you can see these bronze-faced men are not just names and numbers on some Washington bureaucrat's tally sheet. They are now real honest to goodness human beings. Human being that hunger, hurt and feel the cold of winter. These are the people that you, Bob, and the rest of the Office of Indian Affairs and I are going to see that they are taken care of."

"Amen to that," replies Bob. "I will have a different outlook on my job when we return to Washington."

CHIEF CRAZY DOG

The next day around mid-morning they enter the village of Chief Crazy Dog. The Comanche are not as hospitable as the Apache; they consider all white men with suspicion. Although, they have lived peacefully alongside the white men for a number of years, the reminders of the earlier days of fighting and dying are not forgotten memories to many of the older clan.

Charlie rides ahead of the others to the middle of the village once again. Over the years Charlie has made many trips into Comanche territory seeing if he might somehow find his birth mother. Charlie loved his white Pa and Mother and his two brothers with all his might, but, he had a thirst to know his birth mother. He would ride up the Two River's Valley and spent many a day talking with the elders of the Comanche tribe. He even spoke with some of the few remaining Indians who were on that fateful Sunday morning raiding party on the Jericho ranch, but they were unable to remember a mother with a small child. During all these visits he had developed a deep kinship with these people and had learned to speak their language with proficiency; although, by blood he was Comanche, but he still regards himself as white. He could only assume the role of a true Comanche in appearance only, in his heart he was still Jesse and Hank's brother.

Speaking with the first braves that approach Charlie requests a pow-wow with Chief Crazy Dog. Pointing to his two brothers and Bob he explains these white men are from the white man's government and wants to see how the Indian agent is treating them.

At first, the Comanche braves do not want to intercede with Chief Crazy Dog on the white men's behalf. White men are not to be trusted and especially those from the white man's government.

Charlie has anticipated their reluctance, so he brought along a couple of knives, a harmonica, and some more hard candy. These gifts seal the deal, and they are invited to come inside the Chief's tepee and pow-wow with him.

The inside of Crazy Dog's tepee is not much different than that of Howling Coyote; however, in addition to the buffalo skins, there seems to be an assortment of objects that Charlie recognizes as dried human scalps. It does seem that the old ways are hard to forget. Charlie whispers to Jesse, Hank, and Bob not to mention the scalps if so, theirs might be next to be hanging on the tent wall.

Sitting cross-legged around the fire, as they did in the Apache camp, they nervously eye the human scalps adorning the walls. Again the pipe is brought out and passed around the group. As it was being handed to Bob, he thinks, 'What is it with these Indians and their pipes?' This time he only pretends to suck in a lungful of smoke, but there was no way to fake generations of Indian spit not getting into his mouth.

The men sit and talk for hours, and in the end, they discover the Indian agents are treating the Comanche the same as the Apache, lousy food and useless blankets. Also, the visit from the United Oil people gives them the same advice, 'the oil belongs to the government,' and United Oil is the government.

Charlie saved one knife as a gift to the Chief who thought Charlie had given him a most splendid item, in return the Chief gives Charlie one of his cherished beaded headbands. Once the gifts are exchanged, they say goodbye and leave the village to head back to Jericho.

That night as they sit around their campfire, finishing off the remainder of the deer hind-quarter, Bob remarks, "You know I cannot believe our government treats these poor savage people so badly."

"Bob," said Hank, "you are now the government. They may seem like savages to you, Bob, but they are smart, intelligent, resourceful people, with customs that seem foreign to us. In many instances, their traditions and practices are superior to our white race."

"I can tell you one thing when I get back to Washington there is going to be some changes made in dealing with these Indians. You can bet your bottom dollar on that."

"That's the spirit, Bob, and now you see why I made you come to Texas with me."

Two days later they are back at home at Jericho. Sitting on the front porch sipping bourbon and smoking cigars, Bob speaks up, "This has been an eyeopener to me, I have never felt so alive, well except for my butt, I think it died on that second creek crossing. I can never thank you enough, Hank for including me on this fact-finding trip. I can assure you this has been money well spent; I will never forget seeing those poor Indians and how they are getting swindled out of their oil too."

"Say, Hank, I almost forgot to mention it, but when those United Oil people were here I got to talking with one of them, and he told me oil was being discovered on the Indian reservations in Oklahoma. If so, United Oil is going to say to those Indians that they do not own their oil either. If you talk to President Roosevelt, you need to bring this to his attention too."

"You bet I will, thanks, Jesse."

Chapter Fifty-Five

RETURN TO WASHINGTON

Getting out of their carriage in front of the Department of the Interior building, Bob again said to Hank, "Sir, I cannot overemphasize how much this trip has meant to me. And I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the opportunity you have given me. Without the knowledge gained from the Indian nations my job here in Washington would not have been as meaningful as it will be now."

"Good, excellent, Bob. I'm glad it was rewarding, but once we get back to our offices, I want an appointment with President Roosevelt at his most convenient time. We need to address the plight of those poor wretched Indians and how they are being swindled out of their oil rights by the United Oil Company.

OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT

"Come in, Hank, take a seat. You with your new job and me with mine, we scarcely get to see one another. What do you have on your mind?"

"Mr. President, you appointed me to the Office of Indian Affairs, and I took it to heart and made a hands-on trip to visit with some of the tribes, the Apache and the Comanche to be exact. Sir, what I discovered is beyond outrageous, it is criminal. Our Indian agents are providing goods to the Indians that are beyond useless, in some cases foods provided could be dangerous to the Indians health. These examples, Sir, I have witnessed with my own eyes. I believe the agents are corrupt and have provided for themselves a neat little ploy to steal and sell our perfectly good commodities for worthless and unusable items."

"Jolly good, Hank, jolly good. You have my authority to take whatever action you deem necessary to remedy this deplorable situation. If people are to go to jail, so be it. The matter is totally in your hands, do what is necessary, my good man."

"Thank you, Mr. President, I knew I could count on you, but there is one other matter that needs your attention."

"Speak up, Hank. What is it that is so important?"

"Sir, as you know my Jericho Ranch is located between the Stephenson and Wolf Branches of the Brazos River. The area is known as the Two River's Valley. Sir, a while back, oil was discovered in the valley, but there are so many rules and regulations concerning the drilling for the oil, that it makes it almost impossible to get the oil out of the ground. One company, the United Oil Company controls most of the oil in this country. Sir, they have a virtual monopoly on the oil business - United believes if they can outwait the people they can pick-up their oil leases for little or nothing. And another thing, when I spoke with the Indian tribes, United Oil told them their oil belonged to the government, and United led them to believe that they were the government. These Indians, of all people, need the cash from the sale of this oil. They are living under desperate conditions, and without money, their situation can do nothing but get worse.

In addition to these tribes in the Two River's Valley area, I hear oil is being discovered on the Indian reservations in Oklahoma. Those Indians that live on barren, unproductive land could also use money from the sale of oil, but the United Oil Company is doing its best to beat them out of it too."

"This is terrible, Hank, what do you propose I do?"

"Sir, invoke the Sherman Anti-Trust Act and break up the United Oil Company into many smaller companies. Companies which cannot control all the oil in our country. Let the people that own the oil have the revenue from its sale. What United is doing to the people is morally wrong and possibly criminal as well."

OFFICE OF INDIAN AFFAIRS

"Bob, could you come into my office for a moment."

"Yes, Sir," said Bob, sticking his head inside Hank's office.

"Take a seat, Bob. There's something I have to tell you."

"Sir, what is it? You are alarming me."

"Bob, you know I have just come from President Roosevelt's office."

"Sir, yes, Sir, I know you had an appointment with him."

"Bob, I explained all about the mistreatment of the Indians, and he gave me his permission that I could do whatever was necessary to correct the situation. I also told him about the oil leases and about the unscrupulous matter in which the United Oil Company is conducting business. I have his assurance he is going to use the Sherman Anti-Trust Act to break up United into a number of smaller companies. None of them will have the unbridled power it now has."

"Sir, that is very comforting to know, but how can I be of service to you?"

"While I met with the President he asked me to take on an additional responsibility - he appointed me to the Presidential Monuments Board. I have never heard of it, and I'm going to need to research it to find out what are my responsibilities."

"Maybe I can help you there, Sir. Before coming to the Indian Affairs office, I interned with the Monuments Board."

"Great, what does this Board do?"

"Sir, to be honest - nothing, but before I left, there were rumors that something big was about to happen. I did not find out before I left, but since the Board formed nothing has ever been proposed by them, but I have heard through the grapevine that the Antiquities Act is going to be used to build something grand."

"Now that you mention it President Roosevelt used that name - the Antiquities Act. He said he could invoke the Act by Presidential Order. Bob, when does the board meet and where?"

"Sir I don't know. They have never met. Let me call around and see if I can find out what is going on, and I'll get back to you."

Within the hour Bob was knocking on Hank's door, "Come, Bob, what did you find out?"

"It is something big, and it will fall under the Antiquities Act, but it is the National Parks Service that is pushing for something grand. They are pressuring the President for something that will spur Americans to visit the National Parks. They want something that America can be proud of and will want to visit. There are only four people on the board, the chairman is Doane Robinson, the state historian of South Dakota is one member. And, of course, you. However, but I did not find out who are the other two board members; but, they will meet next Monday at 1:00 pm in the Arts and Industries building at the Smithsonian Institution."

"Thanks, Bob, if the Chairman is the Historian of South Dakota and they want recommendations for a national monument, I already have a perfect suggestion."

"Good, you now have a head start."

"Speaking of a head start, Bob, I am going to attend the Monument Meeting as I promised the President, but I also informed him that at the end of next week I am resigning my position with the Office of Indian Affairs. I suggested your name as my replacement, and the President agreed. Congratulations you are now the Interim Director of Indian Affairs under the Secretary of the Interior.

MONDAY'S MEETING

"Gentlemen," said the Chairman, Dr. Doane Robinson, "please find your name places at the table and we will begin. I am Doane Robinson, the Historian of South Dakota, to my right is Hank Scarburg of Jericho, Texas, and the Director for Indian Affairs under the Secretary of the Interior. Next to him is Nickolas Petro of the National Museum and last but not least is Bert Milton of the Bureau of Land Management. Thank you all for coming, I'll get right to the point. The National Parks Service is looking for a national monument that will draw attention to our national parks. The attention that will bring visitors, but they want a monument that can be visited for free. Visitors must not have a fee to pay to see this national attraction.

Does anyone have any suggestions? The floor is open for your input."

At first, no one speaks, each person glances around the table waiting for the others to say something first. Finally, Hank speaks, "Back in the late 1800's my brothers and I along with our good friend Ringo Taylor left Texas and rode all the way to the upper plains. Specifically, we went to the Chimney Butte area along the Little Missouri River in North Dakota. We traded for Mustangs with the Indians to bring back to Texas to breed with our Quarter horses, and the resulting offspring were used to supply the U.S. Cavalry with their cavalry mounts. Our Jericho ranch is still providing horses to the cavalry to this day.

On our return journey, we were attacked by one renegade Sioux warrior who had become inflamed over losing a fight with me. This Sioux fired an arrow at me from ambush but struck one of our party Ringo Taylor in the heart, and he tragically fell from his horse and died. We buried him on a slight rise east of the mountains the Sioux call the 'Six Grandfathers.' If we could construct a large memorial on the side of the large granite 'Six Grandfathers' mountain, we could increase free tourism to the Black Hills region of South Dakota, and at the same time pay tribute to Ringo Taylor, my friend."

"As you all know," speaks Dr. Robinson, "I am the state historian of South Dakota, so you know I am prejudiced towards Mr. Scarburg's suggestion. So Hank, what is your thoughts on what should be placed on the 'Six Grandfathers'? Or as it has been called Mount Rushmore."

"Again Doane, I suggest we have carvings of American presidents - number one would be George Washington..."

"May I?" Said Mr. Petro, "how about Abe Lincoln?"

"Good, good, Mr. Petro, that is a great suggestion. Any more ideas?"

Mr. Milton, not to be excluded ventured the name, "I like Thomas Jefferson. That would make three: George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and Abraham Lincoln."

"Gentlemen," said Doane, "I am intimately familiar with the 'Six Grandfathers' or Mount Rushmore, and there is enough room on that large granite mountain to support one more president. Who do you all suggest?"

THEODORE ROOSEVELT FOR MT. RUSHMORE

"As you said earlier Doane, I am prejudiced too, but I would like to nominate as the fourth president - Theodore Roosevelt. Without him, the idea to establish this monument would not have even been possible."

"President Roosevelt is an excellent suggestion, but I believe to be included we must nominate presidents who are deceased," said Mr. Robinson.

"May I interject something, Mr. Chairman? It is now the beginning of the twentieth century; no matter whom we decide on today it will take years before work begins and even many more years before it will be completed on the Mount Rushmore monument. President Roosevelt is not a young man, and he is not in the best of health so that the planning work could begin shortly, and by the time a final decision is required it could be decided for or against Mr. Roosevelt," said Hank.

WASHINGTON, JEFFERSON, LINCOLN AND ROOSEVELT

"Alright, I agree. Let's put it to a vote: George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln and Theodore Roosevelt. Preliminary work to start planning their busts to begin immediately. Their busts to be constructed at some future date on the side of the mountain in the Black Hills of South Dakota known as Mount Rushmore. All in favor signify by saying 'Aye.'" The vote was unanimous.

"Some future generations, Hank, will look upon Mouth Rushmore and see four presidents, but Theodore Roosevelt would not have been one of them had it not have been for your insistence. You, Hank, and you alone, will never get the recognition, but your effort will always be visible on that mountain in South Dakota. For this America will be eternally thankful.
Chapter Fifty-Six

JERICHO!

Jericho's front yard is overflowing with horses, buggies, wagons and now Ford's new horseless carriages. Women and men alike are dressed in their finest clothes. The women are wearing their best Sunday-go-to-meeting dresses; their grizzled old husbands are decked out in three-piece suits, white Stetsons, and spit-polished boots. Oil well pumpjacks can be seen in the distance nodding up and down all across the vast pastures of Jericho. Sucking the liquid, black gold from the earth's depths to feed the growing demand across the US for this most valuable commodity - oil!

With these people attending from all over Two River's Valley, something big must be happening at Jericho.

Has some terrible misfortune struck the ranch?

Could something have happened to Jesse, Hank or Charlie? Possibly could one of them be dead? Is this a wake the people are attending?

A distinguished looking gentleman, dressed entirely in black, steps from the grass of the yard upon the front porch. He has a somber look on his face. The murmurings from the crowd gathering on the lawn quieten, they move closer to hear what this man has to say, "Friends and neighbors," said the man, a hush falls over those standing close trying to hear every word he is about to speak, "We are gathered here today..."

He stops talking, smiles and looks out over the vast array of folks from all parts of the Two River's Valley, "to join in Holy matrimony, Haskell Edward Scarburg, and Alexandra Anastasia Stone," quietly said the minister. "Please join hands. Do you, Haskell Edward Scarburg take, Alexandra Anastasia Stone to be your wedded wife, 'Yes, Sir I most certainly do'... Do you Alexandra Anastasia Stone take, Haskell Edward Scarburg to be your wedded husband, 'I do'....

Chapter Fifty-Seven

EPILOGUE

YEARS LATER - STATE OF THE UNION ADDRESS

"Ladies and Gentlemen as I stand before you tonight as your President of this magnificent United States of America. I applaud you and the American people for supporting my vision. As a young boy growing up on Jericho, the family ranch, I was intrigued by what my Grandfather did for the people. The great adventures of his life inspired me to get involved with public office. He did not know what impact his acts would have on future generations. He did what he did because it was the right thing to do. Serving the people of America has been my dream, and serving as your new President, I vow to uphold every promise I made to you during my campaign. I Haskell Edward Scarburg, along with my Vice President Arthur "Chief Black Hawk" Smith promise to do everything within our power to protect our natural resources, improve the lives of our people, and focus on conservation. We must invest in our land for the sake of future generations.

May God bless the United States of America.

THE END

(or is it just the beginning)

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