Free to Wander

by Dale a. Smith

Overview

In 1861, Jimmy Carl Gray and Lew McManus travel west to escape the horrors of the American Civil War and to seek silver, wealth, and peace. Their plans are changed, however, when the Texas Brigade invades the New Mexico Territory. The ambitious miners are forced to join the Confederate Army, unable to avoid the war they left behind.

Although mired in violence, Jimmy and Lew make the acquaintance of several intriguing characters. They meet a Mescalero Apache healer named Rodrigo Red Water, an unforgettable Colorado gold miner named Dirt Bradshaw, and even Wild Bill Hickock before he became a legend.

The Southwest is a wild place, full of diverse people, who face battles and other struggles as their various stories unfold. In this wild and colorful journey through their lives, these characters discover love, fear, greed, and the thirst for revenge as they struggle to live through a war that tore a country apart.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781458215796
Publisher:	Abbott Press
Publication date:	05/07/2014
Pages:	342
Product dimensions:	6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.76(d)
Age Range:	1 - 17 Years

Read an Excerpt

Free to Wander

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By Dale A. Smith

Abbott Press

Copyright © 2014 Dale A. Smith
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4582-1579-6

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CHAPTER 1

The two prospectors led their mules up the red foothills of the Magdalena Mountains. The previous night their horses had been stolen by unseen Apaches at their camp on the Rio Grande and the two Tennesseans had to walk now. The two mules were laden with picks, pans and other mining supplies that clanked and clattered as the miners headed uphill.

The differences in appearance and temperament showed more fully with this latest challenge. The massive black-bearded man lumbered along like a bear, grew more irritated with each mile and he felt anxious, wanting to stop and drink his whiskey. His smaller, thin and agile compadre had light brown hair, was clean-shaven and enjoyed the arduous climb in elevation. He went ahead, energized by the mountain air.

"Just be glad we aren't in that God-forsaken desert, Claw," said the thin man in a southern accent. He stopped and took two sips from his canteen.

"What did you say that damned stretch of rock and sand was called?" asked the big man.

"The Jornada del Muerto, the 'Journey of Death'," said his partner, grinning. He waited up for his fellow Tennessean. "I am glad you saved that liquor for this evening. Otherwise I'd have to leave your pickled arse back there for the vultures to feast upon."

"If I was you, Jimmy Carl, I would worry more about Apaches killing us than buzzards eating on us. Dead is dead. Why didn't they fight us last night?"

"I heard Apaches don't fight at night," said Jimmy Carl Gray. "But it don't keep them from stealing. I guess they don't know how to ease up on a mule and keep them quiet, like they do horses."

"Maybe they don't ride mules," said the black-bearded traveler. "Maybe they just eat 'em. Dammit, I need a snort."

"Save your whiskey for later, Lew," Jimmy Gray advised his friend, Lewis McManus. The two prospectors had left the town of Mesilla shortly before the Confederates captured it. They had planned to head for the Pinos Altos Mountains, but heard the Apaches were still raiding the mining camps. "I don't expect it was Christian charity that made them Apaches spare our mules." Jimmy smiled with his high-cheeked grin and nodded his head like a woodpecker. He felt glad to be alive. "And thank God we're out of the desert,"

"God had nothing to do with it," said Lew McManus. "But I am glad we finally made it to the Rio Grande."

Jimmy Gray started walking again, but his black-bearded partner stopped, pulled out a pint of red whiskey and took a fast gulp. "Maybe they don't ride mules," he wondered again. "Maybe they just eat 'em. I imagine Frank and Duff here would be tough as boot leather, though." The other prospector ignored him and hiked up on the ridgeline.

They soon found a more level site and decided to make camp. The hills and mountains turned reddish in the evening sunlight. From their campsite, they gazed at the top of the San Mateo Mountains and the far-off snowy peaks of the Black Range to the west. McManus pulled out his Sharp's rifle from the gun boot on the side of his mule.

"I'm tired of beans and hardtack every night," he told Gray. "I want to shoot us a deer or maybe even an elk."

"Take my shotgun instead," said Jimmy. "Killing something big now is wasteful. And it might bring them savages down on us, like drunkards to a barbeque. Shoot us a sage hen, a jackrabbit or some quail. There's some good brush down in that arroyo, Claw."

"Maybe I'll head up over to those trees," said the big man.

Gray had grown used to his friend's contrary nature. "Go ahead and git,' he said. "You got about an hour till dark. I'll find us some water and make camp. Maybe your drunk ass can kick us up some quail down in that gully."

The man he called Claw headed instead up a side ridge, towards a grove of pines and piñons. Jimmy shook his head and laughed to himself. Lewis Claude McManus was a dependable friend but did whatever the hell he pleased. They had struck out West for gold or silver two years earlier, but did not make it to New Mexico until the spring of 1861. As Jimmy Gray gathered brush and firewood, he thought about their long journey and the reasons for their delay.

Gray's young wife had died of the cholera back in 1858, leaving him childless and of no real connection anymore to Middle Tennessee. He was a poor dirt farmer from Lawrence County, who was distantly related to Davy Crockett. That same year the price of cotton fell, due to too much production by the rich planters who owned slaves. Other poor whites blamed the slaves, but Jimmy blamed the plantation owners. In late March of 1860 he was forced to sell his miserable patch of hardscrabble property.

Both men were in the mid-twenties and ready for a change of fortunes. The wife of Lew McManus had run off with an Englishman – a "Limey Wink" according to Claw, and he wanted to hunt them down in New Orleans. Gray told Lewis they should go west, where there was news of gold strikes in the Colorado Territory and a silver rush in New Mexico. The money he had earned from selling his acreage would grubstake them both.

Two shots rang out in succession now, as the thin man struck his flint and started the fire. Jimmy blew softly on the tinder and added kindling. Maybe Claw is bringing supper, he thought.

Jimmy nick-named his partner 'Claw', because of his middle name and his huge hands--strong meat hooks that grabbed anything he wanted to eat, drink or fight. Maybe he would pull fortune from the earth. If Claw McManus had found the Fort Worth gambler who had swindled him, they would be running as fugitives now.

In Fort Worth they had met up with a gambler and medicine salesman named Miles Wells. The man said he could speak Spanish and he offered to guide the prospectors to the New Mexican Territory. Alcohol was the reason why they lost most of the grubstake money. Lewis had wanted to stop and drink at every other town with a saloon as they crossed Arkansas and East Texas. Jimmy told him they were on "The Trail of Beers" rather than the Trail of Tears and he joked that McManus had more Scotch whiskey than Scotsman in his blood. After quite a few drinks of liquor in Fort Worth, the Wells character cheated Lewis out of half their money in a game of cards and then disappeared.

Later that same evening, Jimmy Gray found Miles Wells staggering in an alley. He caught the swindler coming out of a ladies' boardinghouse, grabbed him by the collar and held a Bowie knife to the gambler's throat.

"Give us back our money, dog-dammit!" Gray demanded. The bug-eyed salesman was stricken with terror. He forked over a handful of silver dollars and change. "Is it all you've got left, you lusty Dutch cheese worm?" asked Jimmy.

"Please don't kill me!" said Mr. Wells. "The rest I loaned to some winsome waif at Ma Kelly's boarding house here. I will pay you back one day, I promise." Miles Wells half-grinned. "She is a pretty little Swedish immigrant, who found herself in dire circumstances."

"You're lucky my partner is not here," said Jimmy Gray. "Or he would crush your skull like was a damn grape."

"I will find a way to make amends", said Wells.

Jimmy eased off and Miles Wells rose to his feet. He dusted off his jacket. "I suppose you won't be needing my services as a guide then. To translate and guide you through the New Mexico Territory?"

"You can translate for us when we're all in Hell!" Jimmy looked at him, shaking his head in disgust. "We would sooner take that Scandinavian whore."

Back in the present, the Tennessean added more wood to the fire. It grew cold quickly here in the San Mateo Mountains. As he rolled the last of his tobacco for a smoke, he thought of the young woman, whom he had spotted the day after Lewis lost most of their money.

It was in a general store, where they were pricing supplies. She walked in to buy a pair of boots and damn, she was beautiful. The girl was fair and blonde, with a round face and bright green eyes. Jimmy Gray could tell by her accent she was the Swedish girl.

She was probably spending the money Miles Wells gave her. Jimmy dared not utter a word to his partner, as McManus leered at the young immigrant. Gray realized she was not a prostitute, when the girl actually blushed.

"Hey, look what I got!" shouted Lew McManus, and Gray was startled out of his reverie. Claw was dangling a jake turkey when he proudly stepped up to the firelight. "I caught him on the roost. Hope I didn't tear the meat up with that double load."

"You didn't unload both barrels at once," said Jimmy. "I heard two distinct shots, unless it was an echo."

"Shoot no. He didn't let go of his perch with the first blast. Then I spun him around, like a target in a shooting gallery and he dropped to the ground. Tell you what. You pluck him and I'll cook him up." Lewis started to roll a cigarette.

Jimmy began to work on the jake as McManus rewarded himself with more whiskey. "I hope them shots don't bring Cochise or some Yankees down on us," Lewis stated. "We've been dodging Injuns and armies by not coming straight up the Rio Grande."

"Yep. All we've seen is a few mexicanos and a whole lot of dry, desperate country. It is kind or pretty though. In a different way than back home. It ain't green like Tennessee, for sure. But I like it," said Gray. He enjoyed exploring the deserts, vast plains, mesas and rugged mountains of the Southwest. It was a land of challenges, wide-open freedom and opportunity – free from the debts, entanglements and suspicions back East.

They found work with the Overland Mail Stage line, driving the route across the broad expanse of West Texas, swinging up the Pecos River, traversing the Llano Estacada and the desert into La Mesilla. It was hard work, traveling day and night between stations twenty to one hundred miles apart. There were a lot of dangers on the mail route – the threat of the stagecoach over turning, poorly trained or diseased horses and the threat of Indians or bandits.

In Texas there was talk of secession, just like in Tennessee. Confederate sympathizers threatened violence and robbery of the Butterfield line, even before the state legislature voted to leave the Union. In April 1861, Gray and McManus made their last run, refused to join the Confederacy and started their search for silver in southern New Mexico.

"Now listen," said Jimmy, while he took the dressed turkey and cut it in quarters. He figured Lewis was too intoxicated to cook the bird correctly. "If anyone asks us if we are Secesh – just tell them we seceded from Tennessee before they seceded from the Union. We are real westerners now." He placed the turkey on a makeshift spit above the fire. "We don't give a damn what happens back east."

"I can keep my mouth shut," said Lewis. "I ain't no fool. But if they ask too much or make trouble, I'll just spin 'em around like I did that jake turkey there."

"You best let me do the talking." Jimmy Gray moved the wood around to cook the meat more evenly. "Dang, it's cold." He looked up at the cloudy sky. "It looks like it might snow tonight."

They smoked and fixed the camp while the bird cooked. This was a routine to which they had grown accustomed—securing and feeding the animals, unpacking the gear and gathering wood.

During the summer of 1861, while armies marched and prepared for battle, Gray and McManus ranged over the Pinos Altos Mountains looking to make a strike. Threats of Apache attacks forced them to prospect elsewhere.

That summer the Territory of New Mexico split in two. The southern area below the thirty-fourth parallel was declared the Confederate Territory of Arizona. In July, the Union forces abandoned Fort Bliss near El Paso and surrendered Fort Fillmore near Mesilla. That autumn the prospectors traveled up to the Sangre de Christo Mountains, named for the Blood of Christ, but they found no gold or silver. Jimmy and Lewis later followed the Pecos River south as the weather cooled. They wintered down at El Paso del Norte in old Mexico, before this recent return to American territory.

Soon the turkey was done. The two miners feasted on the meat, along with some beans and tortillas. They smoked the last of their tobacco and settled in. Jimmy Gray stoked the fire as it began to snow. It was still February and he feared they had started north too soon. He moved the spit away from the fire, but close enough to keep any wild animals away. It was late and sleep came quickly.

The stars were out when he awoke. A light snow covered his woolen blankets. Jimmy looked around. The white inch of snow reflected the starlight and illuminated the camp in a silver glow. It was beautiful, but something was not right. Lewis was snoring away on his back, empty whiskey bottle by his side. Something or somebody was here. Across the smoking embers Gray thought he saw a bush or small tree he had not noticed before. It was an Indian, or at least half of one. The figure stood wrapped in an old ragged blanket and looked as if he was trying to get warm. He wore huaraches like a Mexican instead of moccasins. Jimmy saw no weapon in his hands.

The refugiodo seemed to be starving. He stared eagerly at the remains of the wild turkey. Jimmy Gray sat up and the Indian grinned.

"Hombre, con permiso! Turquia Por Favor?'

"Sí, Adelantar." Jimmy wasn't sure if he answered correctly. He had picked up on how to agree in Spanish, with people they had met in El Paso del Norte and the mexicano villages around the Territory. "Go ahead." Most of the local population were peaceful and friendly people. This stranger appeared to be part Mestizo, but seemed mostly Indian. He squatted by the fire and picked small pieces off the blackened carcass, as if eating too fast or too much was impolite.

Jimmy asked the man if he spoke English.

"Sí Yep. Your food is good. My name Rodrigo. Some call me Red Water."

Jimmy searched for the right words and finally just said, "llamo Jimmy Gray."

"What the hell?" Lewis sat up, his shotgun already in hand. His friend motioned for him to ease off. "Who's our visitor?" asked McManus.

"Says his name is Red Water. I told him it's okay for him to have some turkey. Esto es Lewis," said Gray, pointing to his partner. The Indian took the neck off the bird, as Jimmy Gray stirred the glowing embers and added wood to make coffee. Rodrigo tore into his breakfast now, licking the turkey grease off his fingers as he ate.

"Ask him if he has any tobacco on him," said McManus, shaking himself awake and kicking the empty whiskey bottle into the bushes. He kept the shotgun dangling at his side. "I could use a smoke."

"You ask him. My Spanish is pretty poor." Jimmy walked off to relieve himself.

Tienne lagoon ... ah, tabaco? Cigarillo?"

"Sí. Tengo algo de tabaco," said the hungry native. "You want?"

"Yes. Sí, un poco. Man, I got a headache. You don't happen to have any of that Taos Lightning they drink around here, do you?"

Jimmy laughed as he came back, grabbed the coffee pot and went to get water. "He didn't bring you breakfast in bed today, it looks like."

"Go easy on that turkey, Mister," said Lewis, confused as to how to continue the conversation. The Indian said in half Spanish that he had some willow bark for his hangover and some yarrow. He seemed to be some sort of itinerant medicine man.

At first sight, the Mestizo-Indian had appeared old and worn out, but as he ate, Lewis noticed that he was indeed younger than he first appeared. The red man had all his teeth and he straightened his posture. He seemed to gain strength just by eating. Lewis studied his features while he ate.

"Are you Mescalero? Apache?" he asked.

"Nit'ahende," said the Native American. "The people who live against the mountain. Some call us the Deer People." He reached under his blanket, brought out a cloth pouch and flipped it to Lewis. "We trade. Paro Ahumado para el humo!" He grinned at his joke. Apparently they had run into an intelligent vagabundo. Red Water began to eat the marrow from a discarded leg bone.

It took Lewis a minute. "Smoked turkey for smokes? Hah! We got us a wandering comedian here."

"I followed you from the mountains of San Andres, through el Journado," said Red Water. "It is good you not follow the river." The Indian told them the Confederate Army was marching up the Rio Grande. "Hacia el norte, Los Yanquis retreat to Fort Craig. They sent their women el norte, too."

"You hear that Jimmy?" asked McManus. "We got armies running up and down these damn hills! You was right to zig and zag like we did."

His thin friend returned with a filled coffee pot and placed it on the coals. "You know this country better than we do," said Gray "Can you guide us a ways? Se puede ser nuestra guin?'" The Tennessean had an idea.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Free to Wander by Dale A. Smith. Copyright © 2014 Dale A. Smith. Excerpted by permission of Abbott Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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