Welcome To The Bullpen
Too Old For All That Gold
Conway Mitchell Kangas
The War of Southern Insurrection and the score of years that it occupied should never be overlooked for its part in changing history. Never in documented time did such a mixture of events occur that changed the direction of the whole world. The term industrialized nation had come about, cotton was no longer king, wooden ships were being replaced by ironclads, and the west for the most part had opened up. As time went by’ the National Asylum’ filled, then slowly emptied of civil war and Indian war veterans, only to be replaced and renamed by soldiers of the Great War. Three score after the fight for state rights ended and a half a continent now removed, gathered in a building created and described best by its name ‘the old soldiers home’ sat one of these undocumented figures, none other than James Mitchum, known to his friends as Tamer.
“Maybe you folks are going to be thinking hard of me for telling you what aint been told before and it aint going to line up with your way of thinking but it is in my way of remembering and it is true as writ.” Looking at the puffed up citizens and knowing their thoughts made his innards turn. “You shovers of the quill usually don’t get it right anyways.” He said knowing there was a lack of respect flowing both ways. He wished they would sneak into their holes those insignificant hamlets and pull their holes in after them. Then if it was an afterthought he added “All you want to know is how I came to have that gold in my possession.” This wasn’t correct he knew because they also wanted to know how they could get it.
“I’ll tell you why it is my gold and then you can git and the devil can have the hindmost of yous!”
“It was during the second Oklahoma Boomer Bust, the time when J. Wade McDonald told us colonists, which was lead by that idiot Couch to settle the Oklahoma strip.” Tamer had leaned forward and pointed his finger with authority.”That was exactly a score after Lee and Grant parlayed. I remember it because I was among the 400 boomers that got starved and marched out of Oklahoma by General Hatch that January in ’85.” He had expected them to recognize the significance of that, well they didn’t. “Well ole Couch chose Phil Johnson who was known as a cowboy and familiar with the area and me because of my history of living among the tribes and being in the military on and off to guide his little group.” He didn’t feel like explaining anything to them but as your book nears the end you want to make sure the closing is as good as the introduction.
“So we went ahead to settle up the Oklahoma strip, hoping not to buck the Government but with instructions to let the soldiers fire their Hotchkiss field pieces and Gantlines’ over and about us if it was their intent to drive us off.” Tamer looked down trying to get the words out and he was surprised about how frustrated he felt. “We wouldn’t play the part of a scoundrel but our desire would remain that of being passive until one of the colonists were injured, then retaliate in full measure to every mother’s son of them.” Tamer had never been one to neither shy away nor look away as he looked up and his gaze fell over all of them. Tamer was somewhat daring them to misread his gray hair and frailness as a sign of weakness. “No, we didn’t expect a collision to occur as we had done things already to put us in the good light of Cleveland, stuff like naming the proposed new capital after him.”
Tamer then let out a sigh… “Uncle Sam’s Servants didn’t do nothing but surround us, starve us and then they did let us out peaceful enough but we couldn’t return.” Shaking his head then added “Not a shot was fired before or after I left during that moon of “the river starts to freeze.”
“There were four of us boys in that group of mine which left out to scrounge some grub as our provisions had ran short. So we were rabbit hunting one day one fall. Wasn’t much too it as we walked steadily across the plains at the time, it being Indian Territory and all.”
Tamer reached for what was left in his cup of coffee that on his nightstand, it was cold but he always drank it however it came. “I had about three of them hares around my waist… as that was the easiest way of carrying them. Just make a cut in their back legs between the bones and run a belt through them. It was late afternoon but the moon was shining big and yaller, I remembers that because I always paid attention to the moon as the natives set their activities by it.”
“I was carrying my 45 colt six mouth barker which was my favorite even though it was not a self actor as it could not discharge without having the trigger drawn. It was too much gun for what we were doing but you don’t ruin no meat if you hits them where you was suppose to be aiming plus this was Indian territory and every other type of two legged varmints was out there also. We was about 7 miles from the railroad right-of-way and although we was suppose to be paying attention we was side tracked by looking for rabbits as they was in the low areas and sitting on the edge of the brush. I let loose on one rabbit and two more kicked out and I nailed them too.”
“We had a Pig tail bobee in our group that went by Sun Zu. I know most of you look down on those heathen china men and the rule always was work them to death because there is more coming over on the boats every day. Yet, I always felt a little different about them as their work was thorough but I must admit in no means was it rapid. Sun Zu goes to pick up the carcasses and I turn while reloading and there they were; Right there.”
“Four of the outcasts of the neighborhood sat there exposed to my group of none intimidation. One was Cherokee bill himself that I recognized from a hand bill on a train plus him and his desperados had been the talk of the campfires for many of nights of late.”
Those of the group that wanted Tamer to hurry up actually perked up now as the story was getting interesting.
“I continued to load the pistol as if they were friends which I knew they weren’t. Strange thing about Cherokee Bill was that I know he was an Osage because of his dress especially his moccasins and also later he used the term Wash-a wa ha when he confronted me and that was Osage for “Brave White Man.” Rumor had it that he killed many with no easy deaths in the mix.” Tamer then began shaking his head as if to say no. Then really gruff he says “It wasn’t no rumor, it was a fact.”
Somewhere the old man got his second wind and like a wagon going downhill he was picking up steam and momentum, not that he needed it. “There also was a black man among them that I was sure had to be Billy Slaughter, talk was he had come across some settlers kids and threw them off a cliff into a pond to sink or swim, Only one of the four could and that behavior was when he was being nice.”
The other two were white men. They didn’t look so much the part although for what they lacked in hygiene they made up in odor, both of them wore their hats pulled over their eyes which was a sign I believed at the time and still do that they would sneak and steal. Now tilt your hat back and that means your high minded. Remember that.
Billy Slaughter sat on a strawberry roan with a whitish croup as I remember it, not that it was important but I do recollect that was a fine horse…. and he does the talking. “Look here friends this here region aint very healthy for you just now.” As he leaned back and spit a stream of his navy plug. “You all better not lose any time in clearing out of this valley or your skin won’t hold water no more than a sieve, and you needs to get going now even if you have to use the light of the moon.” Waving his pistol back and forth and catching our attention. He was the one in a good mood.
I looked past him to Cherokee Bill who was ferocious in manner and looks especially with the black paint he wore. Black was worn on returns from war indicating joy or rejoicing from what I had learned. Anyways he kicked his mount foreword then and I took notice that all the mounts are well lathered from some hard riding and the group sat on McClellan saddles. Anyways he points his yellow boy at the rabbits and says roughly while signing. Yes, speaking, grunts and signing almost always went together from my recollections. “Those rabbits belong to me and my people as does all on this plains; gruhh.”
Tamer looked at his audience and almost out of habit more than demonstrating he spoke and as he spoke he took his right hand in a fist and moved it to his right temple and moved it to the left and right which meant his heart was bad. “All those Injuns believed the emotions started at the heart.” Tamer then also gestured “bad” by having both hands clenched as fists near the breast then moved outwards and downwards as the hands opened up. This he added as it was meant for those he was now talking too. He also then grunted at the end.
Cherokee Bill was itching for a fight and I noticed his war bonnet and paid particulars… he had two feathers that caught my eye. First I knew you had to count coupe on an enemy to get a bonnet and his quills were painted red meaning killed some enemies and they were split meaning he killed a couple each time.
He starts smiling and he knows what I know, that and I think he may have actually recognized me. The tribes are judged on how great their enemies are and I had been amongst them before, but not friendly like. What I know though is that a headdress is Big medicine and that it has a special root about inch to inch half tied in scarlet to ones scalp lock and that it keeps one from getting ill and deflects all bullets and arrows of one’s enemies. He wasn’t one of those pacified cigar store reservation Indians but was one of those bonnified wild Indians. I guess I respected him for not putting on any falsehoods. He felt himself equal to any of those Cheyenne dog soldiers or Brule Sioux for sure and white men still remained beneath his contempt. Being that they were beings of no honor.
“Now I was born the 7th son of a 7th son and to a father who died before my birth, Both these things are powerful as the first gave me power to heal the diseased and the second gave me a special gift, the same as Indians who have the power of paint in their hands. Strangely only those who know know and they don’t share what that is. So, no; I’m not saying what it is but yes I am more than superstitions because I have survived some strange goings on. My eyes have seen enough to know.”
That smile of Cherokee Bill’s triggered the events as right after Edmund and Charles walk up and they were both tall and strong men then, but one is German speaking and the other a Finlander and of course I also had the Chinese speaker with rabbits in his hands. They all gather around and about two steps behind me. Believe me when I say you have to have faith in your fellow man before you can have faith in the Lord. I don t know why that it is but it is. They seemed to have a lot of faith in me, mostly because I was their guide and the only one with a gun probably, that and I could sign and speak English even though my English was more colorful then elegant. I think, but as far as faith, I had none in them or the Lord at that time… But I was praying.
Now I’m not the kind to glorify my own pluck and gallantry but we knew they were trying to rattle our bones. So I figured I had to quickly finish this. White folks always told me that if you start to whip an Indian you better kill him right then or he will get you and I swore by it my whole Indian fighting career.
So I look at the distance between the horizon and the sun and it was about three fingers thick, experience taught me that each finger was about 15 minutes of time. I usually would have wanted that sun between them and me but instead they had the sun to their backs. It was fine with me, since I was lower to the ground and had an outline of them up on their mounts. I had thought about whistling “Gary Owen” or something to telegraph my trio my thoughts but I couldn’t think of a way and since I considered myself the boss fighter of the west, and those we were facing weren’t about to drop their guns and show their castor it was time to open up the dance.
"The brightest man, the prettiest flower
May be cut down, and withered in an hour."
"The clock of Life is wound but once.
Today is yours, tomorrow is not.
No one knows when the hands will stop."
*Unknown author*
I open up and let two rounds go in the direction of Billy Slaughter and then snapped two rounds off at Cherokee Bill and only one goes off. The black powder lit up the evening then the smoke filled the air and the sound as usual seemed distant to one in a fight for their life. There was a round that buzzed by my ear and that vvvwwwuuuf sound I’ll never forget but I’m not sure who fired it off. My three just stood there and so did the two white scoundrels as their horses shied backwards. I dispatched them to the milky highway right off as my last two bullets struck them in their skull and blood splattered and then I was empty.
Cherokee Bill levered off 6 rounds. Two in each of my comrades and that Henry spoke true as they were all on the ground. He did something then I of course didn’t expect as I thought I would be visiting the Great Spirit. The gun that was known to be loaded on Sunday and shot the rest of the week hits the ground. Then he looks at me and says “Wash-a wa ha”.
Tamer looks at his audience and demonstrates the sign to those around him as it added to the believability of the story. First while holding firmly his closed left hand about eight inches from the center of his body, left forearm horizontal and pointing to right and front of left hand back to right and front and on line of forearm then striking downwards with right hand mostly by elbow action, the second joints of right hand passing close to and about on line with knuckles of left hand. This meant strong or brave as the words were interchangeable. Then he grunted as Cherokee Bill had done.
Now I would like to say that the fight went on for hours that I had to stop for meals and bring a lantern to keep me going. I have when I had to bit someone’s nose off and then gouged out their eyes and other fighting ideas like slitting throats and using rifles as clubs but that wasn’t the way of it. We both had more than our warehouse could hold in that short minute and to him the fight itself must have been bad medicine or he was more hurt then he let on. Often brave men were left to live… whatever the reason he rode away into the sunset.
Checking my comrades over, I found myself alone. Charles lasted for awhile curled up and gut shot. As I sat there keeping the flies off, he kept speaking in his native tongue and I’m sure it was for his mother because it had an m sound and I grew accustomed to men dying crying for their mothers, not uncommon at all. Edmund took both rounds pretty solid and one cut through his throat so he bled out. I thought of catching a horse which goes without saying. No, I didn’t bury my friends and my appetite didn’t come back for a week although I forced myself to eat and drink. After reloading my pistol I then tried hunting up one of those mounts and it took a few days to get mounted. There were a few times I thought about walking into some of those Teepees dotting the plains and at night you could follow the dogs barking to find one. Once there and in you had the hospitality of those inhabitants. I figured sooner or later though I would have to leave it and then the hospitality would be chasing me. I couldn’t catch any of Cherokee Bills horses but did manage to capture a wild horse which I did in a couple of days by creasing it. Creasing a horse is shooting a horse between the last two short ribs and into the stomach so as to lame it then tame it. I also shot a pregnant mare and then emptied it of its fold and ate some of that as that is always good meat, Comanche trick.
By the time I got back to bury my partners I found the wolves and vultures had been at them. I figured that would happen before I got back as I had seen packs into the hundreds. You might not know it but wolves always ate the flesh off the skulls first, then break it open and eat the brains: the vultures that showed up, well they go for the eyes then kidneys; Natures way. I buried what was left of my friends and it took awhile. I buried them with all that they had except for their money belts. I still see the whiteness of my friend’s chewed up skulls every day.
You see that day I was the only one of the four of us that wasn’t carrying my money belt because I was the one toting the rabbits. Sun Zu was a china man I had saved back in the Blackhills. I became responsible for his life then and at the time he was upset because someone cut off his pony tail which he needed to be buried with. I got it back for him and he was grateful. The industrialist of the Chinese is that they will work over an abandon claim and produce. He had accumulated gold and a bunch of it. We worked his claim and took on Edmund and Charles when they showed up with holes in their clothes and pockets turned out. My heart was always big. So over time we had too much and then of course after their deaths I had all they had and all that we stockpiled before we left.
Yes there is more gold because there were a few days where we filled a peach can or more a day and we worked it till we figured we had enough. We never even claimed it but covered it up when we left. No one will get that now.
I’ll tell you this though. What I learned in life is that a person loves best when they feel good, poor and meek at least feel better when they have food in their frame and some folding money or even some silver clanking in their pockets, but living on love is like living on liberty, it doesn’t work. I remember Grant finding that out when Vanderbilt took all his property including his sword and Medal of Honor to secure a debt, people may have loved him but they didn’t help him. Just so you know that was also back during the sooner bust. I never liked Grant after the Little Big Horn fiasco and was glad he ended up the same way those natives under his brother’s control of the Indian Bureau did. I remember his brother’s response when kicked out of that position was that he regretted he didn’t steal more. The Greatest of a soldier is always shown in his defeat and Grant did well in that respect, I’ll give him that but so did Custer.
Now Cherokee Bill, I did see him later that same fall, when he was a “Good Indian”. It was near Caldwell in the spring when the snow and frigidity disappeared and ungodly mud bit at your steps. It is continual Slop for weeks.
In through town in the late afternoon, up and down the different walkways to the sheriff’s office runs Bill Lorentz yelling at the top of his lungs.
“They broke out, the Indians broke out and they are torturing and killing everyone!” he got off between shortened breaths. Everyone in town gathered around quickly. People emptied the restaurant, stores, bars and billiard establishments, Heck, I did and I dropped my crackers and pickles, leaving the warmth of the fire and ran across the street not caring about the mud or even the groceries I purchased.
Sheriff Crosby looks at Billy and pulls on his shoulder and catches his shirt and suspenders while trying to make eye contact through the long hair and worn Stetson hat. .
“Billy, what you’re saying is dangerous boy! You need to be sure.” Sheriff Crosby read people well and he believed him.
“They got Dale and they killed them Easterners.” Billy gasped, fighting for his breath as the sweat flowed heavily now that he came to a stop. “We need to go save him!”
“Doesn’t make sense for them to be on the rampage” I said because it didn’t. Too many reasons not to be an Indian scare. “How many and where? I said but the Sheriff was the one Billy was responding to as Billy believed the badge carried more weight.
“Who was killed Billy what Easterners are you talking about?”
“I don’t know who they was cause they were dead and wrapped up in rawhide and left to die!”
John the store keep spoke up. “That Billy is a good boy that you can be proud of.” Looking at the crowd gathering he adds “he don’t seem the kind to make things up.”
“That Dale put you up to this?” The sheriff said knowing Dale, who was a few years younger and he was known to have an active and creative memory.
He was still bent over and fighting to calm down “No, I’m not making it up, it’s true” but he added “They are out at the rendezvous place where they issued annuities to the Indians.”
“Everyone mount up and get ready to ride.” Sheriff Crosby said as he knew this is a thing that could put an election in jeopardy. “Get some ammo, grub and dress for the weather, the stable has mounts that the county will reimburse you for if you don’t have a ride.”
A few went to arousing the rest of the town by firing of guns, ringing of bells and beating of tin pans. The newspaper went to print of course and the telegraph got hot.
Everyone was running around getting themselves ready but since I was just there picking up things on my way through I was already ready. Billy was left standing there so I asked him. “Boy how did you get to be out there anyways.”
“Dale and I were on the way to School but found we were cut off by the high water runoff in the streams.” Making eye contact the whole time and not fidgeting a bit “so we just decided to go explore.”
Made sense to me but I wasn’t waiting for others, I rode out. I rode a good half hour when I came across Dale not too far from the distribution area toting arm loads of stuff. “YOU DALE?” I shouted.
Yes sir, Dale Boehm he said standing there with his arm load.
What you got there?
Stuff I found. There is a whole bunch of stuff over there.
I was ready to ring his neck.
I rode over there and found what I thought I would. There were a few decomposed remains, some killed horses, brass kettles, frying pans, and the things Indians put with their dead when they bury them. Things to help them in their afterlife as I knew this was a graveyard.
After some prying Dale said he filled Billy up with his creative memory and to put it in Dale’s words “I told Billy that fangled de-up story and before I finished er-up he had git up and git.
He must have been so frightened that it never occurred for him to look at the bodies. They were wrapped up in blankets and then put above ground so the critters couldn’t get them. After a time they were knocked down, more than likely by buffalos rubbing their hides on them. I say this because I saw buffalo knock telegraph poles down and when they put spikes in them to stop that behavior, well, it got worse as the spikes scratched them better.
When I looked over the bodies as I’m a creature of interest I saw that one was none other than Cherokee Bill himself and he had his headdress still partially on but he was badly decomposed. I didn’t grab no trinkets off him but when the posse showed up they took some. I learned my lesson at the little big horn because those that I remember taking trinkets from a graveyard, well all of them to the last man met a violent death. I still write to some that didn’t take souvenirs. Superstitious, yep that’s me!
I did get a saddle bag of folding money though… that was left near the carcass of that strawberry roan that was forwarded to the happy hunting ground for Cherokee Bill. Not sure how he got the roan, but I figure the reason those horses were all lathered when the desperadoes came across my group was they were returning from doing some misappropriations. Somehow Dale had overlooked those saddlebags, they were pretty rough anyways. His arms were full of pots and pans and some rusty weapons. My thoughts were that that much money would spoil a child of that age so in his best interest I confiscated it for my own use.
I’m pretty much done now but know it was experiences that molded me to believe what I know to be true. As I know what it is to have nothing; there was a time I was putting a horse blanket in a mud hole to make it tolerable to chew on and felt lucky about it. I regret outliving my wife and children as no one should do that. That folding money just played out recent, so now I use the color. I have enough gold to last me and enough that my children’s children couldn’t spend it all. So now I’ve been using it in support of our fellow Veterans. God’s Peace to each of them, and from where the sun now stands, I will talk about this no more, forever. The distant corridors filled with the shadow of a prideful old man going to get a fresh cup of coffee and he would pay for it in gold.
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