The Southern Pacific Railroad had an unaccountable delay in providing a boxcar for the detachment. The scouts had to spend the night at the rail junction, which was only an inconvenience of time. It was actually a comfortable place for a night’s rest out of doors. The only drawback was the rumbling and roaring of occasional trains speeding past throughout the night.
Breakfast the next morning was rather pleasant as well. Everyone enjoyed hot coffee and canned meat or fish purchased at the Fort Sill post trader’s store. The hay and oats that were destined to travel with them to Fort Stryker were available to give the horses a nutritious feed. A well and trough was also accessible that enabled the detachment to water the animals and refill canteens. With all that taken care of, everyone repacked what had been taken out of their gear, then settled down to wait for transportation.
Captain Hawkins had calmed down a bit, and Ludlow made a promise to himself not to bring up the subject of Kristina Halverson again. The young lieutenant kept his mouth shut and only spoke to his commanding officer to answer a question or make a reply to a comment.
At ten that morning, the stationmaster, a rather grumpy individual, appeared. He announced, “Your boxcar is ready. As soon you get aboard it’ll be hooked up to a train for the trip to Sherman, Arizona Territory.”
Sergeant Eagle Heart formed up the men and their horses, marching them to the boxcar. Hawkins and Ludlow followed behind with the stationmaster, then went up to the front of the formation when they reached the vehicle.
The captain yelled, “What the hell is that pile of rolling shit?”
It wasn’t a boxcar; it was a cattle car. The sides were wooden slats with a foot of space between them. The floor was covered with dung, and holes could be seen in the roof. Hawkins spun around and grabbed the stationmaster by his coat collar.
“We are not — I say again, not — gonna ride on that cattle car. You get a proper boxcar for this detachment pronto!”
The stationmaster angrily struggled against the strong grip on his clothing. “That’s all I got for you!”
Hawkins let him go, pointing to three boxcars on the side tracks. “What about them?”
“They’re scheduled for another train.”
Hawkins pulled his revolver. “You get one of them cars over here for us now!”
The man paled, and staggered back a few steps. “I’m gonna call the sheriff!” he cried, then turned and ran for the depot.
Ludlow took a deep breath. The captain’s hotheadedness was about to stir up a heavy load of trouble again. He grabbed Hawkins’ arm when he started after the stationmaster. “Let’s wait for the sheriff to show up, sir.”
“I’ll shoot him too, godamn it!”
“I can think of another approach to this problem,” Ludlow assured his captain.
Hawkins had learned to rely on his second-in-command’s clever mind. “Well, all right. You do what you think is best.” He paused. “Then I will shoot both of ‘em.”
Ludlow nodded his agreement, knowing that by the time the lawman showed up, Hawkins would be calmer and more reasonable.
Twenty minutes passed, then the stationmaster with the sheriff at his side approached the detachment. Ludlow had arranged for the scouts to make themselves clearly visible. When the sheriff saw the half-dozen Indians dressed in army uniforms, he hesitated, then regained his composure. “What’s going on here?”
Ludlow gestured toward the cattle car. “The stationmaster thinks he’s going to give us that vehicle to ride in. We’ll be traveling for several days and there’s no protection from inclement weather.”
The sheriff frowned. “What kind of weather?”
“Inclement,” Ludlow repeated. “That means bad weather. The sides are nothing but narrow boards with gaps between them. And there’s dung all over the floor.”
The stationmaster spoke up in a shrill voice. “It’s all I got, Sheriff.”
Ludlow pointed to the railyard. “There are three acceptable boxcars over there.”
The sheriff looked at the stationmaster. “Why don’t you give ‘em one of those?”
“I got ‘em slated for other trains.”
Now Hawkins, his expression one of palpable fury, stepped forward. “These are properly enlisted soldiers of the United States Army. They aren’t gonna ride in that cow shit.”
The sheriff cleared his throat. “Well … now if that’s … if that’s the only—”
Ludlow perceived the lawman’s hesitancy and nervousness. The man needed a face-saving way out. “Say, Sheriff, I know you’re an experienced lawman. And this situation involves Federal law. That’s out of your jurisdiction and authority. The United States Army is sending this detachment on a mission of great importance. That cattle car is unhealthy for human beings. It would surely mean these United States Army Scouts might be too sick to perform their duties upon their arrival at our destination. My commanding officer has every right — indeed, he is required by Federal law — not to permit his soldiers to risk their physical well-being in such unhygienic surroundings. So what we have here is a violation of Federal law by the stationmaster.”
The sheriff was now more relaxed with his self-assurance intact. “I was just about to bring that up.” He glared at the stationmaster. “My advice to you is to get ‘em a proper boxcar.”
“I told you I got the others already scheduled.”
“This ain’t in my jurisdiction,” the sheriff declared. He pointed to Hawkins. “It’s in his! Fact is; he’s got the right to arrest you if you don’t do what he says.”
The stationmaster protested, “He threatened to shoot me.”
The sheriff shrugged. “I’m afraid I cain’t get involved in this. It involves the Fed’ral government of the U.S. of America!”
Now Ludlow played his final card, giving the stationmaster the sternest look he could muster. “The sheriff is absolutely correct. This captain has the right to arrest you if you put the health of United States soldiers at risk.”
The stationmaster started to speak, then changed his mind. He headed for the railyard to order a boxcar brought up. Hawkins ran after the man and grabbed his arm, whirling him around. “Those good boxcars aren’t for other trains, are they?”
“A cattle car is all Redskins deserve,” the stationmaster snarled.
Hawkins shot a straight right punch into the man’s face, knocking him to the ground. “That’s for insulting men who’re better’n you are, you bangley-eyed son of a bitch!”
The stationmaster shrieked, “I’ll have the law on you for this.”
Hawkins sneered. “I’ll tell ‘em you were resisting arrest.”
Ludlow grinned at the sight, then hollered, “All aboard!”
Deacon Leo Horton, sitting on the buckboard seat in the moonlight, muttered, “This is getting to be a habit, Hezekiah.”
Pastor Hezekiah Woodward, seated beside him took a deep breath. “Indeed it is, Leo. And I’m as nervous as you are, but we got to remember we’re doing the Almighty’s bidding.”
“I know that well enough and I’m proud to be of service for the second coming,” Leo allowed. “But we’ve took half the building fund for the new church out of the bank without an okay from the congregation. We didn’t even say nothing to the brothers.”
“Deacon Leo! We ain’t gonna have to build a new church after Jesus is back on earth. All us righteous folks is going up to heaven, understand? And that includes the brothers. We can tell ‘em about the funds when we’re all up there sitting on the right hand of the Lord.”
“We oughta at least let ‘em know what we done.”
“I got my instructions from above, Leo,” Hezekiah pronounced, falling back on his insistence he was in direct communication with God. “That holy commandment is gonna be followed. If you start arguing about this and that, you might find yourself dodging Satan’s pitchfork in hell after all this is over and did with.”
“I’m sorry, Hezekiah. I won’t protest no more.”
“See that you don’t.”
They fell into silence with Leo feeling properly chastised. The moon was a crescent that night, and the oasis was shrouded in darkness. The sudden appearance of the mule and wagon startled the two white men. Pontaro and three other Apaches were on the vehicle.
Hezekiah jumped down from the buckboard. “We got you twenty more Henry rifles like the ones we already give you. And a hundred bullets.”
Pontaro barked some words in Apache, and his companions immediately gathered up the weapons and ammunition, transferring the load to their wagon. The Apache walked over to Hezekiah. “Prophet want more rifles. Same kind. Same bullets.”
Leo’s indignation flared. “Then tell the Prophet to give us some money! We ain’t rich, y’know.”
Pontaro’s temper sparked as well. “You do what Prophet tell you.” He walked back to the wagon.
Leo grumbled, “I ain’t sure about this whole set-up, Hezekiah. We ain’t got much left in the church’s account.”
“Deacon Leo, you got to keep the faith,” Hezekiah pleaded. “You’re the one person I’m really depending on to help me.”
“I won’t falter,” Leo promised. “But I’ll sure be glad to see the day Jesus takes us up to heaven to our eternal reward.”