“I now ride with you,” was all he said for the next three days.
After that there was no being shed of the boy. Sprout stuck to me tighter than a hungry tick on a brown dog. He wouldn’t have gone back to an Army fort now if I’d threatened him at gun point, so I ended up taking him south with me. At first my excuse was that nobody in these parts was likely to adopt a young Kiowa, regardless of his eye color, but after a while I truly began to favor his company.
The boy was a surprisingly fast learner.
I soon found myself having fun sharing what I knew with him. Since I’d never had a younger brother, I discovered, to my surprise, that it was not all take and no give. In fact, during the year and a half we rode together, Sprout taught me many things back, such as reading sign and trick riding, Injun style.
We continued on south and finally joined that cattle drive just north of San Antonio. Old Amos Simpson was in charge. Not surprisingly he was reluctant at first to take on a Kiowa, young boy or not. Fortunately his partner, Dave Randall, had served for a year with my uncle Zeke while in the military, under Doniphan, and recognized our family name.
In December of 1846, Colonel Alexander Doniphan and his Missouri Mounted Volunteers had ridden south from New Mexico to reinforce Wool’s division in northern Mexico. For nearly six months the Missouri Mounted trekked some 2,000 miles straight across Mexico to the Gulf Coast, winning battle after battle.
To hear Uncle Zeke tell it, they were a real rowdy bunch. “No uniforms, no pay, and no discipline, but no finer group of fighting men ever lived,” he’d bragged. “Doniphan was just a lawyer and amateur tactician, but he shore was one natural-born leader. At Brazito we was surprised by Mexican forces, but Doniphan managed to beat them back in less than an hour. And later, in a battle outside Chihuahua, when we was outnumbered three to one, the colonel single-handedly turned what could have been a real disaster into total victory.”
Dave Randall later told me that he counted 300 dead Mexicans when the smoke finally cleared. The Missouri Mounted Volunteers had lost only three men.
“Amos, if this lad’s kin to Zeke, you can bank on his word,” Randall told his partner. “If he says there won’t be a problem with the boy and is personally willing to vouch for him, then, Injun or not, we’d best take him in. You know as well as I do that Zeke once saved my life, and, since I was the one who pulled you out of the Canadian that time back in ’Sixty-One, well, I guess that means you sort of owe him, too.”
Under the circumstances, it was hard to argue with Dave’s logic, so Amos finally gave in and hired us both. The men were apprehensive at first but any doubts about Sprout soon vanished and the novelty of having a friendly Kiowa scout eventually caught on. Over the next several weeks, the men began chipping in one by one with bits and pieces of clothing, although no one could ever break the boy of his habit of wearing moccasins.
Sprout learned to drive cattle, to rope and to brand, but, more often than not, Simpson used the boy to help out with what he knew best and enjoyed most, namely hunting and scouting. With Sprout along there always seemed to be an extra rabbit, squirrel, or deer for the pot. We ate better on that drive than most, due in large part to the boy’s efforts.
A lot can happen when you trail with someone for over a year, and we eventually wound up as close as real kin. Sprout started nagging me for almost four months solid to help him get a sidearm and holster of his own. I finally broke down and promised to buy one at the next town we passed.
“I don’t know why folks are always referring to the patience of the noble savage,” I’d joke. “Hell, you’ve been pestering me more than a thirsty mosquito in summer. Look, Buffalo Grove is just ahead. I’m going after some supplies while Lucky gets our horses re-shod. After that maybe, just maybe, I’ll see about finding a six-gun for you.” The boy’s face lit up like a campfire.
Early the next morning Lucky Crawford, Sprout, and I rode to town, but as always the boy stopped cold about two miles out, refusing to go any farther. He had learned to trust the others in the outfit and was all right as long as we were alone on the trail, but even after all this time he avoided strangers and refused to go anywhere near a fort or town. Reluctantly we left him camped near a small creek, figuring we’d be gone no more than a couple of hours.
Once in town I ran my errands for the boss, and then headed over to the saloon, while Lucky saw to our horses.
We met later on at the pharmacy and bought some rolling paper and tobacco, and a bottle of oil of clove for Dave Randall’s sore tooth. It was there in the store that Lucky pointed out a Starr Arms double-cocking.44 they had on display in their glass cabinet. It wasn’t the newest or most accurate piece I’d ever seen, but it was dependable enough. More importantly, the shop owner let me have it at a good price.
“The kid’s sure gonna light up when he sees that,” Lucky commented to me, smiling.
“Yeah, well he deserves it. He works hard.”
“Sure does. Say, you fixin’ to adopt him permanent like?”
“Never thought about it much. He’s a little old, ain’t he?” I asked.
“Nah. And come to think of it, you ain’t gettin’ any younger.” He laughed.
“Very funny. But, maybe you’re right.” I paused to think it over. “You know, now that you’ve brought it up, might be kinda nice to give the kid my name. I’ll think I’ll chew on it some.”
We rode back to the clump of trees near the creek where we’d left Sprout, but, as soon as we arrived, it was obvious something was very wrong. His horse was nowhere in sight for one thing, and there were buzzards circling overhead.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Lucky,” I said.
“I’m way ahead o’ you, partner.” His gun was already drawn and cocked.
We split up and rode into the trees from opposite directions. That’s when we spotted him, face down on the ground, dead. I dismounted and quickly hurried to his side. When I rolled him over, I found three horribly large triangular knife wounds, running right through his chest. It was as if he’d been speared clear through.
Lucky holstered his gun and dismounted.
“Whoever it was is long gone. Must have been after his horse. See they’s two sets of tracks riding in, but three heading away to the south. The boy could have been napping…or maybe just thought it was us returning,” he added.
“They must have been riding double and saw a chance to steal his horse. He didn’t even have a chance, Lucky. Three men against one kid!”
“Who’d do something like that?” he asked sadly.
“I don’t know, but, one thing’s for sure, if I ever catch up with them, they’ll wish they’d decided to walk out of here, instead.”
“Hope to God I’m with you when that day comes.” Lucky turned back and pulled a small folding shovel out from his pack.
We buried Sprout among the trees, under a large overhanging branch. It was a clean peaceful spot, and the shade was nice and cool.
Lucky and I followed their tracks for several days until it began to rain and we were forced to turn back. We never did find those three. Even now, although all that was behind me, I still hoped our trails would someday cross so I could even things up for Sprout.
Chapter Eight
The small drop of blood that snaked its way into my left eye caused my eyelid to twitch, snapping me right back to the present. My head hurt and my neck ached, but the pain also served another purpose. It made me mad. Someone had bushwhacked me, stolen my horse, and caused another to die needlessly. I vowed to find the miserable coyote responsible and make him suffer.