Onward West

Chapter 01. Preview

After putting two bullets into the killer's groin, Emmett said, Those two bullets were for my mother.

In response to Harris's plea for mercy, the Navy Colt fired twice more, putting a bullet in each of his knees. Those two were for my father.

Then he cocked the hammer again. This one is for me. He squeezed the trigger again. The bullet entered through Harris's right eye, and exited the back of his skull.

Emmett turned around, finished off his beer, then started for the door. The bartender inquired. Hey, wait a minute. What are we supposed to do with his body?

Emmett shrugged. Feed him to the pigs, for all I care.

Chapter 02. The Search

Charlie Short had been walking in the rain for most of the day as he walked the streets of St. Louis. Almost everywhere he went, someone suggested a location where he might find Emmett Boone. The problem was, every time he got to that place, Boone had already been there and gone. Laclede's Saloon was the latest report he'd had of a possible destination for Boone. Picking an area where the mud seemed to be the shallowest, Short crossed the street, then stepped inside the saloon.

Stopping just inside the door, his eyes scanned the room, finally coming to rest on the table to his right where five men were playing poker. One of them fit the description he had been given of Emmett Boone. He stepped back outside under the overhang, removed his wet rain slicker and shook off as much water as he could. Stepping back inside, he hung the slicker near the door.

Charlie walked to the end of the bar nearest the poker game, and asked the bartender for a beer. When the bartender returned, Charlie paid for the beer, leaned on the bar and watched the game. Boone, if indeed this guy was really Emmett Boone, played a smart brand of poker. He wasn't trying to get rich. The pots he lost didn't involve a lot of money. He made good decisions about the few hands he chose to bet heavily, and won most of them. He also knew when it was time to get out, for after winning twenty dollars on the latest hand, he gathered his winnings and left the table.

Charlie watched him walk to the other end of the bar, where he ordered a beer. The young man he believed to be Emmett Boone, looked to stand a couple of inches under six feet. A casual observer might describe him as thin or lean, but that would only mean they had overlooked his powerful shoulders and hands. His clothing was that of a man who had spent time on the frontier. He wore a Navy Colt revolver carried in a holster that had seen considerable use.

Charlie walked over and introduced himself to the young man he had been observing.

I'm Charlie Short. From what I've heard, I'm thinking you might be Emmett Boone?

When young frontiersman's steady dark eyes finished looking Short over, he answered, Heard of you. I'm Boone, what's on your mind?

I'm taking a wagon train west out of Independence. I need a scout.

Heard Jacob Murphy was doing your scoutin'. You ain't gonna find nobody better.

Short replied, Jacob has been with me for three trips west. Nobody has to sell him to me. The problem is, he broke a leg helping in a barn raising. Now, I need a scout.

I ain't never scouted for a wagon train, Boone answered, as he placed a cigarette paper on the bar, then reached for his tobacco pouch. Before he could get it out of his shirt pocket, Short tossed his tobacco sack on the bar.

Help yourself.

Emmett thanked him, curled the paper, then began sprinkling tobacco. As he watched, Short said, You've scouted for the army. You headed a cattle drive from Oregon to Wyoming through a late spring blizzard, and those cows arrived in good shape. You know the land, the water, the weather patterns, and the Indians. Besides that, Jacob told me you were the man for the job.

Emmett sipped on his beer as he listened to Short's words, then said, I've been thinkin' about heading west again, but I figure to go it alone. I have no interest in lookin' after a wagon train full of tenderfoot newcomers who have no idea of what lies ahead of them. I can give you a few names of men who would do you a good job.

When he saw Boone lick the paper and finish the roll, Short pulled a match from his pocket, scratched it to life on the bar surface, then held it while Boone lit his cigarette.

Emmett, I know the names you're talking about, but none of them are close enough to do me any good. I don't have to tell you I need to be leading that train out of Independence in two weeks.

That's right enough, the young frontiersman agreed. Leave any earlier, and you won't have grass for the animals, or you'll get mired down in the mud. Wait too late to go, and those newcomers might freeze to death in the mountains if you catch an early blizzard.

Charlie Short's face was grim. Boone, I'm in a bad spot. This is my last trip as a Wagon Master. I bought a farm figuring to use the money I get for this trip to pay for it. If this wagon train doesn't go out, I have to give all those people their money back. If that happens, I lose the farm. My wife and youngsters have been waiting a long time for me to stay home. I surely hate to disappoint them.

He waved for the bartender to bring them both another beer, then stared at his muddy boots. None of what I just told you is your problem, and it shames me some for laying my troubles at your feet. Anyway, I figured it real close. I can pay you double what I pay Jacob, and with luck, still be able to buy the farm. That's the best I can do.

A man who stayed out west for any time at all, acting as a lawman, rancher, or wagon master, dealt with a lot of people. Word about them, good or bad, got around quickly. Emmett had never met Charley Short before today, but he knew of him. Short was known as a capable wagon master, and his word was good. After taking his first drink from his new beer, Emmett made up his mind.

I'll guide you as far as Laramie. You can send word to Monroe's tradin' post with those soldier boys who are leaving in the morning. That way, Monroe will have a competent man waitin' to take you the rest of the way when we get there.

Thanks Emmett, Short said, as he offered his hand. I owe you.

Emmett shook his head. You're payin' me wages. That's all you owe. Which reminds me, if you pay me double wages, I'm gonna feel obligated to do twice as much work. I don't intend to work that hard, so you just pay me the same as you paid Jacob, and we'll both be satisfied.

Before Short could respond, Emmett explained. I got a thing or two to take care of first. I'll see you in Independence in ten days.

Then he turned and walked out into the rain.

Chapter 03. Independence

Independence, Missouri, was bustling with activity when Emmett Boone rode into town astride a big bay horse. Trailing behind, was an Appaloosa that looked like he could run all day. Dismounting in front of Pierre Richard's Saloon, he left his horses at the hitching post and stepped up on what passed for a boardwalk.

Stopping just inside the door, Emmett's eyes scanned the interior of the room. After his eyes accounted for every man in the Saloon, Emmett walked to the far end of the bar. From there, he had the best view possible of everyone in the room. Pierre greeted Emmett with a smile and a beer.

Good to see you again, Boone. I hear tell you're gonna scout for Charlie Short's wagon train. That true?

No, he replied. I'm scoutin' for Charlie. I know of him. Don't know nothin' about those newcomers. Is Dooley still running the livery stable?

Pierre answered, Yes, but he moved it to the west end of town. I've got one room open upstairs. You want I should hold it for you?

No. Me and my horses will be at the livery till the train pulls out. If Short comes lookin' for me, tell him where I'm at.

Walking into the livery stable, Emmett found Fin Dooley shoveling out the stalls. Good to see you finally doin' honest work for a change, he teased.

Dooley looked up with a smile on his face. Don't be telling anybody. Wouldn't want to ruin my reputation. How ya been Emmett?

Emmett guessed Fin Dooley to be about forty years old, give or take a year. He was a short, energetic, and affable man, who carried an ugly scar on his forehead. Almost twenty years ago, a Comanche warrior, thinking Dooley was dead, tried to take his scalp. Badly wounded, but still alive, Dooley took exception to having his hair lifted. Burying his teeth in the warriors neck, he severed the main artery. As the Comanche bled out, still angry about the idea of dying without his hair, Dooley took the Comanche's scalp with his own knife.

Looking at the two horses outside the door, Dooley asked, Lookin' for a place for your mounts?

No. I'll be staying with them.

Don't blame you none, the liveryman replied. You got the best horseflesh in these parts, that's fer sure. With all these people in town, I wouldn't be leavin' those horses alone any longer than necessary. Not knowing anything about you, some damn fool might steal one or both, and get himself dead.

I'm guessing I'll be here two or three days. How much for me and the horses? Top care and grain for the horses. I'll sleep on the hay.

Dooley stepped outside and brought the horses inside the livery. As he and Emmett unsaddled the two mounts, Dooley said, Emmett, we've been through this a time or two. Your money's no good here. Never will be. If you want to argue about it, I'll bring Meg down here, and you can argue with her.

Emmett said, No thanks. I'd rather take on a Blackfoot war party with nothing but a skinning knife and a sling shot, than argue with Meg. Anyway, I'm obliged. That said, he returned to stripping down the bay horse.

As he watched Emmett Boone, Fin Dooley thought to himself, He's obliged?

Two years ago, Dooley had been living in a cabin along the Missouri river, just outside of town. One day, three strangers stopped by his cabin just before dark, looking for a meal. His wife Meg, fifteen years younger than Fin, told them they had already finished supper, but she would be glad to fix sandwiches. Without warning, one of the men pulled his pistol and fired two bullets into Dooley's chest. Wounded badly and unable to move, he watched as they ransacked the cabin, taking anything that caught their fancy. Apparently Meg caught their fancy, for they saddled one of Dooley's horses and forced her to climb into the saddle. After setting fire to the cabin, they rode off with Meg as their prisoner.

Emmett Boone was in town looking for a buyer for the furs he took while wintering with the Nez Perce. It was Emmett, who first saw the flames from the cabin. Reaching the fire before anyone else, Boone pulled Dooley from the cabin, while other men tried to fight the fire as they arrived. Dooley couldn't talk, but Emmett didn't need words to read what had happened.

After dropping Dooley off at the Doc's home, Emmett took out after the outlaws. He couldn't see tracks or read sign in the dark, but he reasoned the outlaws would stick close to the river, at least during the night. Three hours out of Independence, he caught sight of their campfire on the bank of the Missouri.

Leaving his horse, Boone worked his way through the brush until he was at the edge of their poorly chosen camp site. One man was tending to their horses, another brewing coffee on the fire. The third man was speaking to Meg Dooley. Her hands were tied, but her spirit was unbroken. Emmett smiled when she spit in the man's face. The outlaw slapped her hard and walked away. By the looks of things, they had been anxious to get far away from town before stopping for the night. Other than the slap, Meg didn't seem to have been harmed, but Emmett knew that wouldn't last long.

As soon as the third man was far enough away from Meg, Emmett fired his 50 Caliber Sharps rifle, the bullet striking the outlaw in the mouth and turning his entire body in a flip. Using his pistol, Emmett killed the man by the fire with two bullets to the heart. The man tending to the horses was so stunned at the sudden deaths of his companions, that he simply raised his hands in surrender.

Cutting the ropes around Meg's wrists, he handed her his pistol. Hold the barrel up against his head while I tie him to this tree. If he so much as breathes before I'm finished, pull the trigger.

After securing the outlaw to the tree, Emmett told Meg to take the pistol down the trail and wait at the two large tree stumps. After she left, Boone slammed his rifle but into the outlaw's groin, sending him to the ground in misery. At that point, after tying the outlaw's wrists behind him, Emmett wrapped one of the outlaw's ropes around this killer's ankles, threw the rope over a stout limb, then pulled him upward until his his hair was only an inch or two off the ground. Then using the outlaw's foodstuffs, he scattered a fifty foot trail of food leading straight to the tree where the outlaw was now bawling like a baby as he begged to be cut down.

After reclaiming Meg and Dooley's stolen things, Emmett and Meg climbed aboard the horses, then started back towards town. By the time the first animals reached the outlaw's face, Meg and Emmett had traveled far enough that the screams were so faint that they were just a curiosity for Meg. When she asked what kind of animal made those awful sounds, Emmett simply replied. The worst kind.

As he now watched Boone toss his saddlebags into one of the stalls, Dooley whispered to himself, I know who owes who, Mr. Boone, and so does Meg.

Leaving the stable, Emmett took a walk to see what changes had taken place since his last visit to Independence. Ten minutes into his walk, Charley Short found him. They shook hands.

Good to see you, Short said. Get your business taken care of?

Some. I'll take care of the rest when I get back west.

Good. As my scout, you and my two assistants can load your stuff, and sleep in my supply wagon. We will all eat from the same food provisions. Anything you think you will need to do your job, you can buy it at Weiker's Store, and put it on my bill. The train will use oxen, but I'll have six horses along for our use. Feel free to take a look at them. If you feel none of them are up to the task, look for one you trust, and if the price is reasonable, I'll buy it.

Emmett said, I've got two horses that I'll be using.

Fine, Short answered. One more thing, I'm having a meeting at nine tomorrow morning with the people of the wagon train. We will be in the corral by Pierre's Saloon. I'd like for you to be there.

Emmett nodded. "Sure thing. I'll be there. The sooner we get this thing going and leave town, the better.

Chapter 04. Meeting

The next morning, Dooley opened up the livery, and found Emmett about to feed the horses. Dooley said, Better let me handle that. You get on down the street and get some breakfast. We've still only got the one eating place. With all these would be pioneers in town, if you don't get there early, you'll play hell gettin' a table.

As he started down the street, the town was just beginning to come to life. Just north of town, in and around the Prairie Schooner wagons that would make up Charlie Short's wagon train, people were beginning to stir. The slight breeze coming from that direction, brought the smell of fresh coffee to Emmett's attention. Around the wagons, as men were checking on their animals, their women were busy getting their morning meals going on the camp fires.

On the other side of Pierre's Saloon, a dugout canoe was being paddled upstream by a single occupant. Most likely a fisherman going out to check his lines and traps, hoping to find a big catch from the night before. With all these people in town, fresh fish would bring him a considerable sum.

There were still two empty tables when Emmett walked into the restaurant. One close to the door, one against the right wall. Choosing the table on the right so he would have the wall to his back, Emmett took his seat and dug out his tobacco sack. By the time the waitress arrived with coffee, he had his cigarette rolled and lit. The coffee was better than it had been the last time he passed through Independence. Or maybe, it was just that the first cigarette of the morning, made the coffee seem better.

After finishing off a breakfast of three eggs, four thick slices of smoked bacon and two large biscuits, Emmett had one more cup of coffee as he rolled another cigarette. Once he finished rolling his smoke, he slipped it behind his ear, paid his bill, and then walked out the door. It was too early for Pierre's Saloon to be open, but he walked down there, then stepped up on the boardwalk. Moving an empty barrel to a place from where he could watch the river, Emmett sat down, pulled the cigarette from behind his ear, and lit it.

When there was time to think on it, the sight of a river flowing peacefully downstream never failed to give him a restful feeling. Taking a long draw from his cigarette, Emmett watched a mother duck lead her babies away from the blacksnake moving along the shoreline. On the far side of the river, an eagle was perched on a Cottonwood limb, patiently waiting to catch sight of a fish for his morning meal. With his cigarette now finished, the shadows of the trees along the river reminded him that it was time to head over to Short's meeting with the wagon people.

As he approached the larger of the two corrals, Short waved, inviting him over. The Wagon Master was flanked by two men whom he introduced as Alan Ziegler and Boston Ward. According to Short, this would be the fourth year these two men had been in his employ on these trips to Oregon and California. The fact that a man like Charlie Short kept these two men working for him, spoke to their competence and honesty.

When the members of the wagon train were assembled, Short fired a shotgun into the ground to stop the talking and get their attention. Pointing to Ziegler and Ward, he introduced them as his assistants and made a point of saying that an order from either of them should be accepted as coming from himself. Then, he pointed to Emmett.

This is Emmett Boone. He will be our scout on this trip. As with my other two assistants, if Boone tells you to do something don't argue, just do it. I can't be everywhere at once, and these men know their business.

Following the introductions, he read a list of rules the wagon train would be governed under as they moved west. A tall, clean shaven man stepped forward. His bearing suggested he might have once served as an officer in the army. Raising his voice so everyone in the gathering could hear him, the man introduced himself as Colonel Oliver Carey, and proceeded to make his point.

Since nearly everyone is here, we might as well go ahead and elect someone to enforce these rules, and select jury members to decide on an accused person's guilt and innocence. We may be heading out into the wilderness, but we can still live like civilized people.

Short stepped down off the corral railing. Colonel Carey, might I ask why you are not in uniform?

Carey answered, Well actually, I'm no longer in the army. People often use my military rank when addressing me, as a sign of respect.

I see, Mister Carey, Short replied, placing extra emphasis on the word Mister. We might as well clear this up before we get started. Once this train starts moving, you leave democracy behind until we reach our destination. As Wagon Master, I, or in my absence, my assistants, will govern this train. There will be no elections. If a man or woman breaks the rules, I will be their judge and jury. Out there is a world most of you know nothing about. Your lives will depend on our experience and judgment. If any of you are not prepared to accept those terms, move your wagon and make your way west however you choose.

Flustered at having his appearance of importance wounded by Short's speech, Carey made one more attempt to repair his image. Mr. Short, I think we need to sit down and discuss this in a calm fashion. I believe you would find my military background to be of some assistance to you in these matters.

Charlie Short's answer was brief. "Carey, you heard what