The long, hot, bone-dry, mid-August days seemed to last forever as the wagons rolled through the West Kansas terrain, making a little over twenty miles a day. Dust covered anything unprotected, choking every living nostril. The stock seemed to be getting gaunt, and food supplies were getting short.
By the fourth day after his haircut, Bart was strong enough to ride Maude, but he stayed close to the Douglas wagon out of sight of the other folks. In fact, he constantly kept to himself, almost in isolation, so people wouldn't see his terrible scar. When someone did approach, he would turn the bad cheek from them and put his hand over the injury.
During a noon break, when he and Liz were gathering chips, she asked Bart how he got injured. They had already discussed his twenty-seven gold pieces, which were now in safe hiding, but he had been uneasy talking about his hurtful past. After hesitating for a minute or two, he answered with a condensed version of events, feeling Liz had a right to know since she’d rescued him and helped him back to health. She listened intently to his story and then said in a squeamish tone, “Bart, I have a confession to make. I knew your name before you introduced yourself.”
“How did you find out my name? Did I talk when I was unconscious?"
"No. I snooped in your bag and found a letter addressed to you in your Bible. I expect your mother wrote it.”
"You found a letter to me in Ma's Bible?" snapped Bart.
"Please don't be mad at me. I stopped reading once I found your name. I promise with all my heart I didn't read the rest." Liz could obviously see doubt building in Bart's eyes. "You can ask Mama if you don't believe me, she was there."
"I believe you, Liz, and I'm not mad—at least, not with you. I haven't opened Ma's Bible since her death, and that's been over two years. I'm grateful to you for finding her letter but mad at myself for not finding it earlier. I can't wait to read it. Let's hurry back."
After the chips were stored, Bart and Liz retrieved the Bible and were heading for a sitting place when Mrs. Douglas caught Liz's arm. "He should be alone when he reads the letter, Liz. It'll be a very emotional experience. Give him time to collect himself and then if he wants to share the letter he'll come to you." Liz nodded, seeming to understand her mother's wisdom, and walked away.
Bart walked several yards from the wagon before sitting down. He held the unopened Bible in both hands and visualized his mother's smiling face with her blonde hair pulled back, tied with a blue ribbon. She was wearing her blue, pleated dress—she was beautiful. Other memories were occupying his mind when Mrs. Douglas approached him. "It's time to go, Bart. Everyone is in their wagon ready to leave." Bart's expression didn’t change. He simply nodded and rose.
Liz and her mother climbed into the wagon seat with Mr. Douglas, and they started west in total silence. Bart rode a few yards to their right. After some time, Liz asked quietly, "Mama, is Bart all right? He seems so different since he read his mother's letter. I'm worried over his quietness."
"He hasn't read the letter, Liz. It was unopened when I went to him."
"Why didn't he read it, Mama? Maybe he can't read."
"He can read, Liz. He simply wasn't ready to reopen his painful past—he's been through a lot, you know. He'll read it when his mind gets ready. He needs time for the healing process to take place, and we ought to honor this need. Do you understand?" Liz nodded.
When evening came, the train circled beside a small, waterless grove of trees. After the stock was watered from the barrels and hobbled on a nearby knoll, folks cleaned their clothing of sweat and soaked dust as best they could and prepared their supper. They seemed subdued.
While meals were being eaten, Captain Willard stepped to the center of the circle and said in a loud voice, "Listen up, everyone. We've been traveling hard for the past few days and are a little ahead of schedule. I think it's time for an afternoon of relaxation and fun. By noon tomorrow, we'll come to Deep Springs. The area has a waterfall, a large pool made by the falls, and a river flowing from the pool that runs along the eastern border of the Colorado Territory. When we get there, you'll have time to wash clothes, take a good bath, pitch some horseshoes, or do whatever you want. In the evening, we’ll have our fill of buffalo steak topped off with Mr. Dubia's fiddle music and some dancing. I've seen plenty of buffalo signs around, so it shouldn't be difficult to find our dinner. Let's all get a good night’s sleep so we can start early."
The camp’s attitude changed immediately as the travelers became keyed up and started talking to one another about tomorrow's event. It was well after sundown when folks started slipping away from the fire, anxious for the new day to arrive.
After the last person had turned in, Captain Willard found Bart and asked if he’d like to accompany him on the buffalo hunt at daybreak. Bart was excited but told the captain he'd never been on a buffalo hunt before—that he'd never shot a gun.
"That's all right, Bart. I'll show you what to do. You'll catch on fast. Be dressed and ready to go by first light." Bart stood smiling as he watched the captain disappear into darkness.
"Tomorrow will be a fun day, a new experience,” he whispered to himself.
After getting a candle and his Ma’s letter from the Douglas wagon, Bart walked several yards outside the wagon circle and sat down. Unfolding his Ma’s letter, he focused the candlelight and entered into the world of yesteryear, reading what his Ma had to say.
To my beloved son, Bart, October 15, 1870
If you are reading this, I will have died and now live in Heaven. As you know, I have been suffering and anticipate my life in this world to be completed shortly. I don't dread death itself but do fear the death of my unborn baby and mourn being unable to be a part of your life as you mature into manhood and raise your family. Of course, I'll miss your Pa. He's the love of my life. Please help him in his time of grief.
Son, I'm very proud of you. I believe you'll grow up to be a respected man; someone people can count on; someone who helps those in need. Keep a strong faith and live a life that demonstrates your beliefs to those around.
Now, about your name. I know you feel I treated you cruelly when I named you Azro Bartholomew Carter, but it's a name that carries a great deal of history. A name that represents men with good acts toward their fellow man. Son, what's in a name? Does it only point to a person, like a page number in a book? No. It defines one’s very soul; your acts of kindness or the lack thereof. People will recall your characteristics, both inward and outward when your name is spoken. Folks may turn their heads or stand out of courteousness when they recognize a person of respect. Your name can bring laughter, joy, and comfort for those you have helped. You have a good name, respect it and be proud.
Son, accept my death as being part of God's plan and not something unfair.
Remember, my love for you will last for an eternity.
With love from your Mother
Bart folded the letter and looked up into the heavens. The crescent moon shone bright, and the sky was filled with millions of twinkling stars. Two coyotes were speaking in the far distance. A new feeling came over Bart. A feeling of comfort, a feeling of belonging, a feeling that everything would be all right. He moved to his bedroll, took off his boots, and lay in wonderment, thinking of what the future held for him.
At first light, they rode from camp. The captain led a horse with an empty pack for carrying the kill. Bart let the captain take the lead as they headed south, crossing several small knolls. The captain stopped at a large dugout, and Bart pulled up beside him. "See that wallow, Bart?”
“Yes, sir,” Bart answered. It was a large round hole about three feet deep and seventy-five feet across. Its floor was covered with loose, fluffy dirt.
"That's where buffalo dust themselves by rolling in the soft dirt. It removes ticks and repels other insects.” The men sat still for a minute or two observing their surroundings when the captain spoke. “From the looks of these wet droppings around the wallow, I'd say the herd’s been through here within the hour."
The hunters had ridden a few yards farther when the captain said, "Remember, Bart, those dusting holes are a good place to hide if you're ever caught out in the open and need to be concealed. They’ll even hide your horse if he lays down."
Thirty minutes later, a curtain of dust could be seen about a mile away. The captain motioned for a stop. "We'll ride easy from here on, Bart. Let’s only talk in a whisper."
They topped the next hill, and the herd came into view. There were hundreds of buffalo grazing lazily two rises ahead. The hunters moved forward and stopped in a concealed location, some five hundred yards from the herd. They ground-hitched their mounts, and the captain pulled a fifty-caliber rifle from his saddle boot along with a shooting tripod and binoculars. Motioning for Bart to follow, he started forward in a hunched-down position. Coming to the top of the next rise, they crawled until the full herd was in view only two hundred yards away.
Bart watched the captain set up the tripod and take a shell from his pocket. He loaded his gun, placed the barrel in the fork of the tripod, and then sat the gun stock on the ground and motioned for Bart to come closer. "We'll pick out a yearling male. That’ll give us over four hundred pounds of meat. The meat should be tender, especially after aging until evening. Can you pick out a yearling male?"
"I think I can find a male if you’ll let me use the binoculars," Bart said with a grin. "But I'm not sure about the yearling part? If it were a cow or horse, a yearling would be about half grown, but I'm not sure when it comes to buffalo."
"It's the same with buffalo. The bulls can weigh up to a ton, but mostly, they're about fifteen hundred pounds. Yearlings weigh six to eight hundred."
Bart looked closely through the glass and identified his choice with a pointed finger, a yearling male standing a few yards away from the herd. The captain nodded, indicating a good choice. "I'll aim at the heart, which is a few inches behind the front leg. If my shot is accurate, it'll be a fast kill and won’t damage much of the meat." The captain sat with crossed legs and shouldered the rifle while the barrel remained resting on the tripod. He took a deep breath, aimed, and squeezed the trigger.
Standing over the dead animal a couple of moments later, Bart saw blood around a hole the size of a silver dollar behind the yearling’s left front leg. The captain immediately started cleaning the animal by splitting its midsection and removing the innards. He then separated the liver and set it aside, along with the tongue. As the captain wiped his bloody hands on grass, he explained the best technique for skinning a buffalo and told Bart he could help. As they worked, the captain explained the many uses of the hide. Coats, blankets, teepees, saddle blankets, rawhide strips and leather lariats, to name a few. Within twenty minutes, the hide was off and rolled up with the liver and tongue inside; they hung it on the pack horse. Thirty minutes later, four clean feed sacks, each containing a quarter of the meat, were added to the pack horse's load.
On the way back to camp, the captain said the buffalo were being reduced by the thousands. That some men killed for the skins, leaving the carcass to rot, and others killed for tongues only. After a minute or two, he shook his head and said, “In a few years, the big herds will only be a memory.”
They rode in silence across the western plains for the next thirty minutes, contemplating how the continuous flow of new settlers was changing the land. The weather had warmed some, but a helpful breeze had come up. The sky was full of pillow-like clouds floating toward the eastern horizon. The only sound was the squeaking leather from the captain’s saddle.
The captain broke the silence. "Bart, if you'd like, I'll take you deer hunting and teach you to shoot a rifle, if time allows."
"I'd like that," Bart said with a grin. "And Captain, thanks for taking me on this buffalo hunt. I learned a lot."