Misunderstanding
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Since nobody was interested in cold weather, we decided to head for southern New Mexico Territory, possibly somewhere near Carlsbad. Janet and I had thought that eastern NMT looked like a good place to live when we had made our excursion there the previous year. There was a lot of open space, so we should be able to find a decent location for the Negroes to settle down.
We packed up and set out that very morning. The Negroes were in a hurry to get away from the local KKK and I couldn't blame them. Each family was in its own wagon, so that meant that we had ten wagons, nine for the Negro families and the odd one the we had taken a couple of days ago, which had fallen to Janet and me kind of by default. One of the Negro boys was driving it for us. He was very proud of himself, since he was being paid 10 cents per day to do the driving.
We were a wagon train heading west in all but name. We were all neophytes at this immigration business, but we figured to learn on the job. We decided that we didn't need a wagon train scout, since we planned to stick to established roads. Of necessity when dealing with the local Whites and because I was paying for the move, I became the wagonmaster. I'd had some experience with wagon trains a few years earlier, so I had a pretty good idea of what was required, so I was elected to head the group. Actually, I planned to do things as democratically as possible, but I wasn't going to let some foolishness ruin the trip for everybody.
One thing was decided right quick: we were going to camp out every night. No hotels would accept Negroes as patrons, and nobody wanted to sleep in a livery stable, so camping was the only option. Whenever we needed provisions, Janet or I would go into a town with the odd wagon and two of the Negro women to purchase what we needed. We figured that either one of us could protect the group on the excursion, and we could put two shotguns in the wagon for the Negro women to use if the situation demanded it.
Whenever we came to a fairly large town, and Houston was the first on that list, I planned to go into town with one of the Negro men to drive my wagon. My intent was to buy shotguns to make up the number I thought we needed. Upon reflection, I had decided to buy the equivalent of one and a half shotguns per person, so that a shotgun could be being loaded while another was being shot. This was a lot of weapons, but I was imposing looking enough that no one dared challenge me on it. There were enough gun shops in Houston that I was able to come up with the total number of shotguns right there. I also bought powder, shot, and caps so that we were well armed very early on in our trek.
When we got back to camp, we loaded each shotgun with everything but the cap, so we were ready to face any attack that should come our way. It was a good thing that I had been able to find so many guns in Houston, since we met our first challenge two days out of Houston.
It was mid-afternoon and we were moving along at about three miles per hour, our normal pace, when we were met by a gang of 20 men brandishing pistols and rifles. One of the men rode up to me and demanded to know where we were going. I was a bit put out by his brusque nature and replied by asking him why it was any of his business.
"I am Arthur Wade, captain of this brave band of volunteer militia. We are intent on making sure that no niggers settle in our county. You will turn around now and go back the way you came!"
"Well, I'll tell you, Mr. Wade, we have no intention of turning around. We wouldn't settle in you piss-poor county on a wager, so you need not worry about us. Now get your ass out of our way, or we will run right over you where you stand."
"YOU CAN'T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT! YOU WILL FOLLOW MY ORDERS AND TURN AROUND!" Wade made to enforce his order by drawing his pistol and pointing it at me. I noticed that he had not yet cocked his Navy Colt, so I was not worried about him, but some of the other men did look dangerous to me.
I ignored him and waved at the wagons to resume their journey. All of the Negro men handed the reins to their wives and took up their shotguns. They capped them and cocked them, but went no further in preparing to shoot.
This must have frightened one of the men escorting Wade, because he cocked his pistol and turned toward me. He did not have time to put me in danger before two shotguns were discharged. The fool was blown into mincemeat by all of the buckshot that hit him. Several other men tried to shoot, but all of them were eliminated by shotgun blasts. Wade tried to shoot me, but I drew and fired before he was able to cock his revolver. He fell out of the saddle, and this appeared to unnerve his men so much that they turned and rode away as fast as their horses could carry them.
Just about this time, Janet came riding up and demanded to know what the shooting was all about. She had been riding behind the last wagon as the rear guard and had missed seeing most of the action. I gave her a quick rundown, and she laughed at the stupidity of the so-called militia.
We continued on in a state of heightened alertness until we reached our evening campsite. We were not bothered any more by this gang of fools, but we took our customary defensive arrangements with a sense of added concern. The wagons were arranged in a rectangle, and the stock was herded inside. Guards were posted, and a rotating watch was continued throughout the night. Each person slept beside his or her gun, and all were ready to defend the camp at a moment's notice.
We had no more trouble with this particular asinine version of a militia, but it was by no means the end of our encounters with stupid and bigoted people. The next time we needed provisions, it was Janet's turn to go into town with the wagon. This time, she took one of the men and two of the women with her when she went to the store.
The man stayed outside to keep an eye on the wagon and the animals while the women went into the store. No sooner had they entered the store that the owner literally began frothing at the mouth and shouting, "YOU GOD DAMNED NIGGERS GIT OUT OF MY STORE! I WON'T HAVE NO NIGGERS ON MY PROPERTY!" He raised a cudgel and made threatening gestures at the two Negro women. They cowed back away from what seemed like a crazy man, but Janet calmly drew her pistol and pointed it at the shop owner.
"I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head, you miserable excuse for a civilized man. Put down that club before I shoot you full of holes! Now, you listen to me. These women work for me and are here to carry the stuff I buy to the wagon. If you want my business, you will calm down and act courteously to all of us; otherwise, I will take my considerable business elsewhere. And I intend to pay for what I buy with cash, specifically gold. Now, do you want my business or not?"
It may well have been the smell of gold that calmed the storekeeper down, but whatever it was, he apologized. "Ma'am, I'm awful sorry I lost my head a minute ago. I lost three sons in the war, and I just go crazy sometimes when I see niggers. Please don't take it personal-like, that just happens to me sometimes."
"I am sorry about your loss and accept your apology, so now let us get down to business. Here is the list of things I need, please see what you can do to fill my order."
The order was filled with dispatch and Janet paid the bill with the gold and silver as she had promised. One of the women went out of the door with a load of groceries, but dropped the items and ran back inside. "Miss Janet, Ma'am, come quick. There's trouble out here with my Joe."
Janet rushed out the door and saw the trouble Hildy had seen. Eight men were surrounding the wagon that Joe was sitting in. These men had their pistols drawn and pointing at Joe. Joe was not being docile, either. He had his shotgun ready to fire if any trouble started.
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