The quartermaster teamster pulled on the reins, bringing the baggage wagon to a halt. He jumped down and walked over to the front door of the scout detachment’s orderly room, knocking loudly before entering the building.
Captain Mack Hawkins and Lieutenant Ludlow Dooley looked up from familiarizing Scout Michael Strongbow with the mysteries of a duty roster. “What d’you need, soldier?” Hawkins asked.
“I got a delivery for this unit, sir,” the teamster said, holding up a bill of lading. “It was at the railroad junction north of Fort Sill. So I took it to the quartermaster warehouse over there, but they said it belonged here at Fort Lone Wolf. So I brung it here.”
“That’s very interesting,” Hawkins remarked caustically. “What is this delivery?”
“Ten thousand rounds of .44 caliber Winchester ammunition, sir.”
The officers’ mouths opened wide in astonishment.
The teamster announced, “I’m gonna need some help unloading it.”
“Damn!” Hawkins exclaimed, turning his eyes to Ludlow. “That father of yours is a very generous man.”
Ludlow, still stunned by the size of the order, said nothing
Michael was confused. “Is that a big order?”
Ludlow nodded. “It is a gigantic order! Go to Sergeant Eagle Heart and tell him to bring the scouts over here. Quickly!”
Michael rendered a perfect salute, performed a faultless about-face movement, and marched out the door.
Within minutes the detachment stood in formation in front of the orderly room. Hawkins barked some orders, and the entire detachment followed the wagon over to the post ordnance storehouse. When they arrived at the building, Hawkins borrowed a hammer from the teamster and broke into the crate. He pulled out a couple of boxes, noting the contents.
“Each of these holds a hundred rounds,” the captain announced. “That means…let me see—”
Ludlow butted in. “That means there are a hundred of those boxes, sir. One hundred rounds in one hundred boxes add up to ten thousand rounds.”
“Indeed it does, Mr. Dooley.” He signaled to Sergeant Eagle Heart. “Let’s get these bullets hauled inside.”
“Yes, sir, Cap’n!” the sergeant replied.
He gestured to Corporal Tall Bear and Swift Horse to climb into the back of the wagon. Although officers aren’t supposed to do manual labor, Hawkins and Ludlow joined the teamster along with Sergeant Eagle Heart, Corporal Running Cougar, Red Moon and Michael Strongbow to form a line so the ammunition could be passed from man to man to the storehouse door. Red Moon and Michael stacked the boxes along the back wall.
The post ordnance sergeant made an appearance to update his regular monthly ammunition inventory. He gasped when he saw the amount of rounds being unloaded. “Whew!” he said. “Cap’n Hawkins, sir, it’s gonna take you fellers about ten years to shoot all that up.”
“Sure will,” Hawkins happily agreed. “Maybe we should put in a requisition for a Gatling gun.” He referred to the hand-cranked fast-firing weapon used by the Army.
But Ludlow Dooley squelched the idea. “Gatlings are .45 caliber, sir.”
“That’s right,” the ordnance sergeant agreed. “A bulletin from the War Department had a write-up on a machine gun used by the British. It was invented by an American name of Maxim who lives in England. You pull the trigger and it fires continually ‘til you let up.”
“We studied the weapon at West Point,” Ludlow said. “The recoil when fired is what makes it work.”
“Christ!” Hawkins exclaimed. “What caliber is it?”
“It’s a British caliber, sir,” Ludlow answered. “.303. It’s the same they use in their Enfield rifles.”
“Mmm,” Hawkins mused. “D’you think you could get your father to buy us one of those machine guns and the ammunition for it?”
“I’m sure that well has run dry for a while, sir,” Ludlow stated.
“Too bad. Well, Mr. Dooley, let’s get these .44 rounds put away, shall we?”
“Yes, sir. We shall.”
A full moon floated over the Guerras Apache Reservation as Parson Hezekiah Woodward and Deacon Leo Horton sat quietly in the buckboard beside the oasis. They waited for the special rendezvous they had requested from Pontaro the former army scout. It took some gentle arguing on their part before the Apache agreed to arrange a meeting.
Both men were on edge with a serious case of acute anticipation.
Hezekiah had spent almost the previous week in deep nightly prayer and meditation. He knelt in his den, praying for divine guidance on what he should do about the messiah Pontaro talked about. For the first three evenings he felt nothing during the sessions. There was no stirring of his soul, only a dull emptiness.
His wife Mildred noticed his lethargy during store hours and became concerned. She asked him if he was feeling ill, and Hezekiah told her he had prayed for help from the Almighty, but was getting nowhere. Mildred asked about his quandary, but he refused to talk about it. Since she was as devout as he, she encouraged him to keep trying for what he sought from God.
The next night he began his prayer as usual. But he still felt no encouragement from above. He persisted in his plea for another hour when his mind was suddenly filled with a strange awareness of wisdom and revelation. This righteous sensation heightened, then gradually drifted away. He wept with joy, having received more than a sacred message; it was a commandment.
The Reverend Hezekiah Woodward was to contact Deacon Leo Horton. They were to go to the Apaches and aid them in their undertaking with the Prophet and the Messiah. He got to his feet and loudly cried out, “Surely this is the second coming of Christ!”
Although it was four o’clock in the morning, Hezekiah grabbed his hat and coat and rushed out into the street. He hurried to Leo Horton’s house and banged on the front door. A bedroom window opened and Horton stuck his head out. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Leo. Come out here. I got important news. Real important news.”
A minute later the barber opened the door. Woodward didn’t bother to go inside the house. “I’ve received a message from God, Leo! He has commanded us— you and me— to aid the Apaches in their task with the Messiah and Prophet.”
Leo was stunned and couldn’t speak for a moment. “Hezekiah, are you…are you sure? That is … is … amazing! But are you sure?”
“There is no doubt this is the second coming of our savior, Leo! God hisself told me so!”
“You talked with God again, Hezekiah?”
“I heard his voice, Leo, just like I’m hearing yours now. He said he has chose me for a special chore. We’re getting pulled into something that’s gonna herald heaven on earth!”
Tears came to Leo’s eyes. “Oh, sweet Lord! Can it be, Hezekiah? Can it be?
“I prayed for several nights, Leo! I prayed like I never prayed before. Then I received the word of God. And I know exactly what we have to do.”
Leo sagged against the door jamb. “My sweet Lord! We been called on like disciples. Wait a minute! We ain’t disciples. We’re saints.”
“But we cain’t talk to nobody about it,” Hezekiah cautioned him. “Not even to the brothers of the congregation.”
“I understand, Hezekiah. But how’re we gonna do this?”
“It’s being showed to me, Leo. Ever’ minute I become aware of something else we gotta do. And there’s no time to waste. So don’t open your barbershop today. And I’m gonna let Mildred take care of the store. We’ll both go out to the reservation and ask Agent Larimer to fetch Pontaro for us. But we cain’t reveal a reason. We’ll just insist we gotta speak to Pontaro.”
Now, in the darkness of the desert, Pastor Hezekiah Woodward and Deacon Leo Horton stood beside the buckboard, waiting at the place for the rendezvous. After an hour they could hear the soft plodding of horses’ hooves in the sand. A minute later they saw the shadowy figures of two horsemen approaching.
Pontaro and the Prophet appeared plainly in the moonlight. Both Hezekiah and Leo gasped at the physical magnificence of the man with Pontaro. The Indians did not dismount, but rode up next to the buckboard under the trees. “This is the Prophet,” Pontaro said. “He does not speak the white man tongue. I will tell you what he says and I will tell him what you say.”
“Excellent,” Hezekiah said. “Please give him our fondest greetings and tell him I have received a commandment from God that me and Leo here are supposed to help the Prophet in his task with the Messiah.”
From that point on, Pontaro acted as interpreter.
The Prophet was not at all friendly. “You should not have come here.”
“Believe me,” Hezekiah said, cowed by the man. “We have nothing but peaceful feelings toward you. We are only obeying what the Almighty told us to do. He’s what y’all call the Great Life Giver.”
It was obvious the Prophet was suspicious. “How did you hear about what we are going to do?”
Leo Horton pointed at Pontaro. “He told us.”
Hezekiah saw that the Prophet was angry with Pontaro, and begged, “Please don’t get mad at him. The Great Life Giver commanded him to tell us.”
The Prophet turned his anger toward the two white men. He didn’t want to reveal the plan to kill all whites, but he stated, “You are in great danger.”
Hezekiah, feeling he was under God’s protection, was not afraid. “We want to help you. Pontaro told us the Messiah had appeared on the earth once before.”
The Prophet’s eyes narrowed with anger. “Yes. It was a long time ago. And the whites killed him. Then they destroyed the world so Indians could not live on it anymore. The Great Life Giver sends the Messiah back for revenge.”
Woodward knew it would be useless to try to explain the Gospel to the Apache, and spoke quickly. “Cain’t you understand, Prophet? We been told by the Almighty to help you. Help you!”
The Prophet sat silent for a moment on his horse, deep in thought. He glared at the two white men, then gradually his facial expression softened. “Can you get us guns? Good repeating guns?”
Hezekiah was bewildered. “Why guns?”
“To do the Great Life Giver’s bidding.”
“Uh … uh,” Hezekiah stammered. Then he quickly remembered something. “Yes! We can get you repeating rifles. Fifty of ‘em! Right away.”
“When you have the rifles, tell Pontaro,” the Prophet said. “We will see if you have big medicine or are crazy.”
The two Apaches quickly turned their horses and rode out of the oasis into the darkness. Leo Horton was mortified. “How’re we gonna get fifty repeating rifles, Hezekiah?”
“From Archie Garfield.”
“The traveling salesman?”
“Yes! The last time he was in my store he asked me if I wanted fifty second-hand Henry repeating rifles. He wanted five dollars each. I told him I’d buy three or four, but he said ‘no’ that I had to buy ‘em all or none.” He gave out a happy chuckle. “He’s coming back tomorrow to deliver some tools and clothing I ordered. I’ll buy them rifles! By the will of God, I’ll buy them rifles. Don’t you see, Leo? All this is falling into place through God’s grace. We’re part of the second coming. Hallelujah!”
“That’s gonna be more’n two hunnerd dollars, Hezekiah. D’you think we got that much between us?”
“It’s gonna be exactly two hunnerd and fifty dollars, Leo. And we’ll get the money out of the church funds.”
“Ain’t that stealing, Hezekiah?”
The pastor gave his companion a condescending gaze. “This involves our savior Jesus Christ coming back to us. We are his children! Everything we do from now on is a commandment from God.”
“Yeah! I reckon so!”
The pair climbed into the buckboard for the return trip to Hope Wells.