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His Lucky CharmChapter 13 free porn video
Death of a Friend
Winter 1863-1864, Denver Territory and Missouri
The Tremaynes had a quiet Christmas in their home. They attended Christmas Service in the Assembly Hall. The thing that marred the evening for Jim was the log-winded sermon by that pompous ass John Chivington who droned on and on, and he was more than relieved when the closing prayers were spoken.
On the next morning, after breakfast, they exchanged gifts. Everybody in the household was included, and for once, they all sat together at the table for a festive meal at noontime. Albert Tennison was invited, and he sat with Mary O'Donnell and her children. In the afternoon, Ned and Mandy came to visit, as did Hiram Kennedy. Abraham Linkletter and Raven came, too, for the first time in weeks.
The extended group stayed for dinner. The Pilkins also visited, and they all toasted the excellent year they had enjoyed. The evening was made memorable by Raven Feather's announcement that she was expecting a child. There were hugs between the women, and as far as Rose was concerned, it was their best evening yet in Denver.
A week later, Justice Pilkins conducted the civil wedding of Albert Tennison and Mary O'Donnell. The subsequent banquet in the Apollo Hall saw over sixty guests, and it lasted until well after midnight. Albert had music playing, and Rose got to practice the steps she had learned under Beaumont's tutoring in the summer.
The winter that year was relatively mild, and Kennedy planned to resume mining activities in March. In their long discussions, the partners agreed to hire more people that year. Kennedy was confident that they could increase their production significantly if he was able to blast another mine into the rock, at an angle to the first one. He also corrected his estimate of the total yields they could expect. They had found two more quartz veins, late in the fall, which promised sizable returns. Kennedy now expected to run the mine for at least two, possibly three more years. As a consequence, he would move his family to Denver, in the spring.
Jim listened to all this with mixed feelings. He certainly appreciated the additional riches they would gain, but it would also delay the move to the East and possibly to England. On the other hand, he could not simply leave, having Ned handling all their work. He had not been that effective for their business, anyway. Sure, he had built up goodwill within Denver's social elite, but so far, his stationing at the capital had not really been necessary or even helpful. Of course, his position on the Board of Directors of the Miners' Bank had made him privy to information that had helped them, but still, for an active man, his role had been less than satisfying.
They also planned another trip to St. Louis, in spring. Tennison would be busy organizing the supply for the mine, and the partners decided to let Jim handle the business alone. This time, Jim planned not to accompany the wagon train. If Bunion waited for him in or around Independence, he would wait for the wagons to show. Jim was familiar enough with the land around Independence to be able to skirt Jackson County entirely, thus staying out of that Sheriff's bailiwick. He felt he was enough of a frontiersman to make it on his own.
The winter kept its grip on the land until mid-March. Hiram Kennedy and Ned then started out for Tarryall again, to resume the mining operations. Albert Tennison would follow a week later, with the first supply train. Jim stayed behind and readied himself for the trip, training two new horses for riding. He also obtained a brand new tent for bad weather and had Mrs. McGuinn prepare travel food for him. He planned on hunting as little as possible and rather would rely on what he kept in his saddle bags.
He celebrated Bobby's first birthday with his family, and it was right on that day when the first load of gold dust arrived from their mine. He received additional Letters of Exchange from the Bank for the latest delivery, and he set out for St. Louis on March 7. The farewell from Rose was taxing, but she kept her composure and she gave him a farewell night which left him thoroughly satisfied and drained.
Once on the trail, Jim pressed forth, making twenty-seven miles the first day, switching horses every two hours. He made another twenty-six miles on the next day by his estimate. He did not meet any people on the trail before the fifth day when he encountered three westbound supply wagons, headed for Denver. Rotating his horses, he was able to maintain the brisk pace for another two weeks, and then he was already close to Independence.
He encountered more westbound travelers and wagons now, and he spent an evening in a camp of settlers, enjoying the hot meal to which he was invited. He learned from their scout that things in Independence had changed after Sheriff Ebenezer Bunion had been shot by a gambler. The gambler claimed self-defense, arguing that the Sheriff had tried to shake him down for his day's winnings. For once, Justice Albert had shown spine, and the jury had handed back a not-guilty verdict.
Enraged, Landon Bunion tried to shoot the gambler outside the courthouse. Being drunk and one-eyed, he only wounded him, but the new Sheriff was sober, and he shot Bunion straight through the heart. With the patriarch of the Bunion family felled by a stroke in the fall of 1863, the family's hold on the city was broken for good.
Jim felt nothing but relief. With just a little luck, Rose would be spared any rumors now. Nevertheless, he stuck to his plan to skirt Independence, but he did not avoid Jackson County altogether, but rather passed the city in the early morning hours.
A mere ten days later saw him in St. Louis where he deposited and divided up the Letters of Exchange to the four accounts with the First Philadelphia branch. His savings with the First Philadelphia now ran to an impressive $205,000 or £29,000. He left the interest for the first seven months in the account, withdrawing only $500 for possible travel expenses.
He did not stay for more than two days since he had no purchases to make. He spent those days resting in his hotel room and enjoying regular meals and a hot bath. Both his horses could rest, too, and he saw to it that they were fed good quality oats. He also loaded up on travel food for himself before he took the saddle again for the return trip. This time, he planned to stop in Independence after he had confirmed the information about Bunion's death from the St. Louis rumor mill.
He chose the same hotel as during his stay in October, and the same waiter was serving breakfast, grinning at him broadly. Jim learned that Bunion had not raised much of a fuss after he woke from his fist- and booze-induced sleep. It seemed then that he did not remember all that much from the altercation. That was certainly good news, and Jim made sure he tipped the man generously, also relaying Rose's greetings.
There were a number of wagon trains readying for the Oregon trail, and a few heading for Denver. One of them consisted of five mule wagons, carrying among other items several pieces of equipment ordered for their mine. The wagoners were accompanied by the wagon master, the cargo superintendent, a scout and a trail cook who drove his own, smaller chuck wagon. Their problem was that the scout had been thrown from his horse on the way to Independence, and he still had a hard time keeping his saddle. Another scout worth his salt was hard to find with all the wagon trains assembling.
Jim thought only briefly. They needed the parts at the mine, and any delay would be felt badly. He therefore offered to act as scout on the way out to Denver. The wagonmaster agreed after Jim added the information that he had worked the Oregon trail for three years. They would leave two days later. Jim also heard that a stagecoach line was to be opened that year and relay stations were being built along the trail. This would ease his future trips considerably, he expected.
Once they had started on their way, his scouting kept Jim free to roam the country around the trail, and he enjoyed this part of the business. He knew the trail well enough to plan for the next stops from memory, and he explored the terrain ahead with great care. Almost every day, they overtook one or more settler trains, usually consisting of huge Conestoga prairie wagons, pulled by three or four yokes of oxen. They exchanged news then, and Jim managed to pick the brains of their scouts for information.
After ten days, Jim saw the first Indians. He was riding two miles ahead of the wagons, scanning the land to both sides, when he saw a band of twenty or more braves appearing from the left. They came closer, and Jim readied his weapons. In particular, he pulled the Henry Rifle from its scabbard as he waited. When they were perhaps two hundred paces away, one of the braves left the group and came closer.
He held some sort of hooked, wooden staff, akin to a shepherd's staff, and from that, Jim guessed him to be Cheyenne. The staff, known as coup stick, was used in fighting to touch an enemy, and such a deed was considered the ultimate bravery. The man was as tall as Jim and held himself upright. He was a leader if Jim had ever seen one. On his head, he wore a war bonnet of feathers and buffalo horns.
Jim was fairly fluent in sign language, and he greeted the brave with the sign of peace. The warrior, a well built man of Jim's age, raised his own hand in greeting.
"I greet you, warrior of the Human Beings," Jim shouted, knowing the way the Cheyenne referred to themselves. He used the mangled mix of English, Cheyenne, Lakota, and Arapaho words that was commonly understood.
"Greetings, Man of the White People!" the brave replied with dignity, scanning Jim's appearance, his horse and his weapons carefully. "What is it that makes you travel through our hunting grounds?"
"I guide a train of wagons, to a place in Ute lands, called Denver. We bring tools and other goods for the needs of the dirt diggers."
"Are you a soldier?"
"No, I was a soldier once, but in faraway hunting grounds. I was never a soldier in this land."
"What do you offer for the right to travel our land?"
Now, the brave was talking business. Jim had a few things in his saddle bags for this purpose, things that did not take much room but had true value.
"I would offer you five hunting knives, made from good steel. I have them with me."
"Can you show me?"
Jim bent to the side warily, fishing for one of the wrapped knives in his saddle bag. He found it and tossed it to the Indian who caught it with dexterity, unwrapped it and tested the sharpness. He nodded and smiled.
"It is good knife. Five, you say?"
Jim nodded. "Five, and the one you already hold."
"Is good price. We tell other Human Beings to let you travel in peace. How are you called?"
"They call me English Jim," Jim replied, feeling that 'Tremayne' would be too hard to remember.
"I am Hook Nose, but the Pale Faces call me Roman Nose."
That was a surprise. Jim had heard of the man before. He was one of the Cheyenne Dog Soldiers, young warriors who defied the elder chiefs and stood for a more aggressive stance against the Whites. Jim nodded.
"I have heard of you, your name is known to the White People."
The man nodded, obviously pleased. Jim nudged his horse closer. He was wary, but a sixth sense told him he could trust the man. He handed over five more knives. The Cheyenne opened the bundles and examined the blades. He nodded with satisfaction. After stowing the loot away, he nestled with a pouch on his drawstring, extricating a small piece of tanned leather with intricate symbols on it.
"This is sign of Hook Nose. When you meet Human Beings, show them my sign. They will know you are a good man among the Pale Ones. Safe travels, English Jim."
"Good hunting, Hook Nose," Jim replied. "It lifts my heart that a great leader of the Human Beings sees me worthy of his sign."
The man wheeled his horse and trotted back to his band, oblivious to the fact that Jim held his rifle across his lap. When he joined his men, he distributed the knives among them. Other things were handed around, too, and Jim assumed that those who did not receive knives got other things for compensation. Then the whole band turned their horses and rode in northern direction, away from the trail.
After watching the Indians disappear over the next hill top, Jim turned his horse and rode to meet the wagon train. He told the wagon master about the encounter, and they agreed to press on until dark, to put as much distance as possible between the Indians and themselves.
Indeed, the sun was already going down when they stopped for the day. Their rest place was a grassy patch on the side of a small creek. They circled the wagons and used a small, smokeless fire to prepare the evening meal. The tired men went to sleep in their boots, their weapons beside them, while two men stood guard. With eight men on the train, they could divide the guard duty between four watches. Jim volunteered for the fourth watch, from three o'clock to dawn, the time most likely to see an Indian attack. All stayed calm, however. After dawn, Jim circled the camp site in a wide arc, but he did not see any signs of Indians in the vicinity. After a hearty breakfast, they were back on the trail.
With the mule wagons, they could travel twenty miles a day, a pace slower than the one Jim could do on his horses. The few rivers they had to cross were manageable and did not carry too much water. All in all, the trip from Independence to Denver took thirty-one days, including a one day stopover they needed to rest the animals. The second half of the trek went without any hitch, and in mid-June, the five-wagon train reached the approaches to Denver. At this point, Jim bade his farewell to the wagonmaster and his drivers and rode ahead.
As he rode through the outskirts of Denver, he felt a sense of foreboding. Something felt wrong. Without thinking, he spurred his horse into a canter. Along Cherry Creek, he saw collapsed houses, half buried in silt. He had a sinking feeling when he realized that the tall building of the Rocky Mountain News was among the collapsed structures. The bridge was gone, too, replaced by a makeshift pontoon crossing.
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