On the fourth day after leaving the Deep Springs stop, the wagons moved parallel to a ridge of mountains. The trail had become somewhat steeper, but at the same time, the surface became hard with only a few rocks, which eased the workload for the teams. The dust from the wagons subsided and the humidity dropped, but the temperature remained hot.
That evening after supper, while people were gathered around the central fire, the captain made some announcements. "El Pueblo is within a day’s ride if we start early. It’s on this side of the Arkansas River. We'll camp a mile north of town by the river tomorrow night and spend the following morning in town replenishing our supplies and buying any necessities. You'll find the town to be friendly and the people willing to do business. When the Gold Rush was in full swing a few years back, the prices in El Pueblo were outrageous, but now they're back to normal.
“Four wagons will be leaving us at that point. They're heading south for the Texas Panhandle. Let’s all lift our cups and wish them the best of luck." Most folks had known for weeks the routes people would be taking, but they made a big to-do about their companions’ departure anyway. Saying goodbye was difficult. After all, families had been traveling together for weeks; relationships had been formed.
During a break the next afternoon, Bart found Mrs. Douglas and asked, "Would it be all right if I go to town with you tomorrow to buy some new clothes, or should I stay here and tend the camp?"
"I think you should go, Bart. It'll be good for you, but remember, people will probably stare and say hurtful things about your scar. Are you up to that? Can you control yourself and put people's rudeness aside?"
"I'm pretty sure I can. At least, I'm going to try. It's like you said, Mrs. Douglas, I need to mingle with folks. I might as well start tomorrow."
The wagons were stationed at the edge of town while the travelers went to the shopping district. El Pueblo was a fair-sized town, although not nearly as large as Cairo, Illinois. The buildings were of adobe construction and somewhat crude in their design. There was a general mercantile, a gun store, and a feed and grain outlet. Farther down the street was a hotel, a restaurant, and two taverns for those seeking such services. On the north side of town was an army outpost surrounded by a high log wall. The soldiers’ barracks, mess hall, and other buildings were along the western perimeter. The barns and horses were situated on the east. The post had been created to protect the town folks and travelers in the area from Indians.
Bart walked with Mrs. Douglas and Liz to the mercantile store, passing several women who turned their heads to stare and whisper behind raised hands. "How are you doing, Bart?" asked Mrs. Douglas.
"I'm doing fine. Their attitudes don’t bother me as much as I thought they would."
Before they entered the store, a girl of Liz’s age came by and taunted, "I'd wear a mask if I had a face like yours." Liz turned with her hands clenched into fists and was about to slug the girl when her mother pulled her back and eyed her with a scornful look.
"Don't let it upset you, Liz. They'd be more understanding if they knew my story," Bart said to calm her.
The store was sparsely stocked with a limited selection. Bart gathered two pairs of pants, some underdrawers, and a couple of shirts—one dark blue and the other light brown. As he was laying the items on the counter to pay, he saw a display of hats behind a pile of sacked flour, and on the rack was a hat almost like the one he’d left at Luke’s house—the one his Pa had bought. The price was two dollars, which seemed expensive, but he needed one. He went to ask Mrs. Douglas' advice.
She and Liz were in the yard goods section when Bart found them. "Don't you think this material would make a pretty dress?" Liz quizzed, as she whirled around holding the fabric in front of her.
"I guess so," he said with a shrug. "Mrs. Douglas, could you help me when you get some time?"
Mrs. Douglas folded the roll of material and turned to Bart. “What is it, Bart?”
“I need a new hat,” he said. “And, there’s one on the rack over there I like, but it costs two dollars. Do you think I should buy it?”
Mrs. Douglas looked into Bart’s questioning eyes for several seconds before answering him. “It’s your decision,
Bart,” she answered, as she turned back to the material selections.
After paying for his goods, Bart pulled his new hat in place and fetched Liz from her mother to find Mr. Douglas. He wanted to show him his new hat. As they were leaving the store, Bart saw an older couple struggling to carry a large bag of flour. "May I help you with that? It looks awfully heavy."
"Thank you, young man, that's very nice of you," replied the lady. "Our wagon is outside the door." After the sack had been loaded, the lady stiffened as she saw two young boys coming down the boardwalk toward them. With a frown, she whispered to Bart, "Be careful, here come the Miller brothers. They're a couple of no-accounts who pick fights and cause trouble all the time. The tall one is Bill, and the other is Bob."
"Thanks for the warning. I'll avoid them if I can," acknowledged Bart as he turned to Liz and said, "Ready to go?"
She hesitated and then suggested, "Bart, maybe we should go back inside the store until they pass? We don't want to get into a confrontation."
"Let's go, Liz. I'll not cause trouble, but I won't run from it either."
They didn’t get very far before the Miller brothers stopped ten feet in front of them, blocking the boardwalk. Both looked to be about Bart’s age but much larger in height and weight. Bill was close to six feet tall with long arms and legs. He wore ragged, homemade overalls over his bare chest and his boots had holes, exposing his bare toes. Bob was shorter but weighed as much as his brother. Bart knew he was in trouble when he saw the smirk on their faces. Liz grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop as she whispered, “They want to start a fight, Bart. Let’s go back to the store.”
"I'm fine, Liz, they don’t scare me."
"Hey Scarface, how'd you get so ugly?" shouted Bill Miller. He wanted everyone along the streets to hear his challenge.
"If I was as ugly as you, I'd stick my head in a mud hole and leave it there," said Bob with laughter.
Bart only smiled.
"I'll bet you could start a stampede with that scarred-up face of yours," interjected Bill.
"Why don't you hold a horse turd on your face? It'd improve your looks," Bob said.
Bart smiled again. But it only made things worse.
"You ain't much of a man, are you? I'd never let anyone talk to me the way we're talking to you. You're plumb yellow, through and through, ain't you Scarface? The only person who’d be seen with you is that no-count girl holding your arm. She's homelier than that long-eared, ugly mule you came in on.”
Bart's fist hit the tall boy's nose with a full swing, knocking him to the ground. Splatters of blood covered the boy’s face. Bill jumped up and dove for Bart, but Bart sidestepped his lunge and landed a hard uppercut, causing the boy to slow down with a surprised look. Bart was thinking how his school fighting experience was paying off when Bill stepped forward and threw a roundhouse punch, knocking him to the ground. Immediately, the boy straddled Bart’s chest and landed several hard blows on his chin. Bill thought he had beaten his opponent, but Bart did not give up. He grabbed Bill’s overall straps, pulled him backward, and got his head in a scissors lock between his legs. When Bill was unsuccessful in pulling his head free, he bit Bart's right thigh and got loose. Bart quickly jumped up in spite of the pain from the bite. His shirt had been torn, leaving his back exposed. "Hey," said Bob staring. "He's got scars all over his body, not just his face. We’ll call him Scar."
Bart lunged for Bob, but the boy raised his knee and found Bart's groin; he doubled over in agony. Then Bill waded in, and with several uppercuts to Bart’s jaw, sent him to the dust. Somehow, Bart found the strength to pull himself up once again and start throwing punches, but they landed nowhere. Then Bob grabbed him from behind, and his brother hit him over and over. Liz ran for her father.
When Douglas got to the scene, Bart was lying on the ground almost unconscious, and Bill’s foot was cocked, ready to kick him in the ribs. Douglas quickly grabbed Bill by the overall straps and threw him to the dirt. The boy hurried to his feet, and the two brothers ran off shouting, "We'll whip you again, Scar, if we ever find you by yourself.”
Douglas was carrying Bart to the town's water trough when Mrs. Douglas came running up. She kneeled over him, and then cried out, "Oh my goodness. He's been beaten. Herb…wet your bandana and hand it to me."
Bart's eyes were nearly swollen shut, his lips were split open, and his nose looked broken. Luckily, the old whip injury was not affected. He had several lacerations, and blood covered most of his face. But in spite of his injuries, Bart lifted his head with as much pride as he could muster, and said, "I'm fine. Does anyone have my new hat?"
"I've got it, Bart," Liz said between sobs.
By this time, most of the wagon train folks had made their purchases and were standing around the water trough gawking as Liz helped Bart wash up and put on one of his new shirts.
Then the captain rode up. "It's time we get started," he said, eyeing Bart. "We'll have to hurry, or it'll be dark before we reach our scheduled stop." Everyone headed for their wagons. Bart reached down cautiously to feel his ribs while the captain pulled Douglas aside and said in a low voice, "The Indians have been on a rampage the past few weeks, Douglas, especially in the area we're heading. The Army post commander told me three wagon trains have been attacked in the past month, and all the passengers—men, women, and children—were killed. He said nine wagons pulled out yesterday heading along the same trail we’ll be taking. The commander said he warned them of the danger, but they continued anyway. Are you sure you want to go on, Douglas? It’ll be dangerous.”
"We've come too far to stop now, Captain," Herb said with a nod. “We’ll keep a close lookout and try to be prepared for an attack.”
As Liz and Bart were walking back to the wagons together, she said in a belittling tone, "Bart, you shouldn't have started that fight. You didn't have a chance. You totally lost control of yourself when they started saying bad things against me. It didn't mean a thing. You don't have to fight for me. Don't you think I can take care of myself?"
"Sure," said Bart, "but they said Maude was ugly. I was fighting for her honor."
Liz lifted her chin and quickened her step. Bart smiled to himself in spite of his cut lips as he walked along beside her.