By the sixth day, I was beginning to dread my shifts riding alone with Amos. He was now in full bloom of ‘lovesick,’ and simply could not stop talking about the girl. I had to back him down once in a while from telling me too much. So we started to spend our evenings writing together. I taught him how to write a love letter and even a love poem.
I was wary about encouraging this youthful obsession, yet on the other hand, the lad had a talent. He was able to weave words but lacked the skill to write them, I set him to work, reading the one book I had with me. I always carried a book; a lesson learned from my youth and military days. You can’t count on electronics, but you can count on a well-cared for book. When all else fails, just a little light and a book, or something to write on, can comfort you.
One of the greatest books of love stories and poems (some even quite graphic) is the bible. I had a bible with me I my travel bag and we worked from that. Blessedly, I wasn’t alone in this endeavor. Sheriff rode with the young man frequently enough that he was happy to help. Even Peter and Jeb kicked in some aid. Both knew the bible well and both knew all the fun stories and were willing to talk about them. It was a lot of listening to a beginner read, though. Amos was bright and came along quickly, but it was still painful to follow along and correct him.
However, he excelled at weaving words together romantically. Had one of us been willing to write it out for him, it would have made for an epic work of prose and poetry. Instead, it was hours of scratching out words on whatever small piece of parchment or prepared leather we had around. I had a very small supply of parchment with me and I zealously conserved that resource like the treasure that it was.
In the end, we managed. Once he had an actual letter formed in his mind, I allowed him a single piece of note-sized parchment. Practicing with the fountain pen was entirely a separate endeavor. Had my mother not forced me into a handwriting class in Middle School, I would have been just as worthless with the tool. As it turned out, that class was full of cute young girls and I ended up getting my first feel of breasts and my first hand job out of that class. Not the sexy sort of endeavor, more the ‘groping in the dark alley next to the roller-skating rink’ sort of effort. It was memorable nonetheless. In my memory, her nipples stand out; that was my main takeaway from the experience.
Still, the fountain pen was an effort and only Peter and the Rabbi were a help there; Jeb had never truly had a reason to write, and Sheriff was utterly lost. He’d only seen such a thing used in movies, so he was about as useless with the tool as I was with an easel and artist's paint. It was hilarious to watch in action, but nothing good would be coming out of it. So we fell into a small routine for a couple of days and each of us helped him with a specific area of his effort, it passed the time if nothing else.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Everything changed in that small routine when we ran into the small band of Otoes. They didn’t give us any trouble and Brin was a big part of that; he accompanied me as I was out on point when we stumbled across them. Our reputation preceded us apparently and the warriors they did have with them were nothing but polite. A hidden benefit of having a recognizable and legendary war dog as a companion?
We learned that they were pacing the buffalo herds, waiting to be called in by their hunters to help with the butchering. They did ask one favor: to travel with us, so our herd would hide sign of their travel. Kansa raiders had been troubling them of late, which made hiding the tracks of the travois nearly impossible.
Travelling was boring but dangerous business. Some days brought nothing but endless riding in the heat and praying for rain to cool things off at night. Others brought river crossings and other annoying hazards. I've mentioned it before, complacency quickly becomes your enemy. To fight this off, we ran gun drills daily and I didn’t mind expending a little powder so the gang could gain some proficiency. We inspected gear and had the Otoe run night raids against us. Yes they were mostly old men and the women, but they had some skills.
Weapons were cleaned and inspected, gear was cleaned and inspected; we even paid close attention to personal care and cleanliness. We did anything we could think of to maintain good order and discipline, these were all raw recruits in my eyes and we could all die if I didn’t train them. Hell, it would have been entirely unprofessional and negligent not to do so.
They grumbled. Of course, they grumbled, guys like to grumble and complain. You really have to worry when they don’t, after all nobody likes night watch or riding drag and sucking dust. But it had to be done and they knew it, they still grumbled about it though. They gained trail skills and slowly gained an understanding of basic tactics but it was hard to tell if any of that would come through when the balloon went up.
We finally split up with our Otoe sputniks on the tenth day. They had to bend further west to follow the herd and I got the feeling that the men didn’t like their women trailing with us. There hadn’t been any incidents that I was aware of, but at the same time I didn’t need that tribe added to my enemies list right now. Anyway, best to part as amiable traveling companions.
On day twelve we approached the Kansa river, this put us in the area of the future Kansas City and deep into Kansa territory. This was also where we turned north and started to follow the river again. Or, more exactly, followed the forest that followed the river. In the 19th century, that forest was very seldom less than ten miles deep, and it got thicker the farther north we went. This was the edge of the great plains.
This was where the Kansa decided to strike.