Chapter 9
Those who wish to sing always find a song. A Swedish Proverb
Corinne and Esben settled in the new Wyoming Territory and had been staying with her cousin Jon and his wife Gladys and small baby Beryl. Jon traveled most of the time laying track for the Union Pacific Railroad so they didn’t see much of him. He was spending a lot of time in Montana and wanted someone to stay with his wife and baby while he was away. Corinne was working for Colonel Peterson at Fort Sheridan processing the Sioux Indians who were being put on Reservations in the Wyoming Territory.
“Are you ready to go, Esben?” Corinne asked.
“Coming mother,” Esben replied as he ran out of his room carrying his small satchel containing his change of clothes needed for their trip.
Corinne wanted to visit friends and shop for cloth, buttons and other sewing goods that weren’t available where they lived unless they ordered it through the mail. She and Esben would board the stage coach that would take them to Fort Laramie. Esben was excited as it was his first trip outside Fort Sheridan since he arrived in Wyoming over a year ago.
The drought had deepened the fissures in the barren expanses of scrub and rock and the ruts along the Overland Trail had hardened and made the ride in the coach bumpy and uncomfortable.
The driver of the stage was a man named Billy McCloskey. He reminded Esben of his uncle Lars and made Esben sad and lonely for his home in Sweden. McCloskey had a bushy red beard like Lars had, and long stringy red hair hanging below his dusty beat up old hat. He had the brightest green eyes that Esben had ever seen and had a red kerchief tied around his neck. He chewed tobacco and would spit juice about every couple of minutes which Esben’s mother said was one of the filthiest habits a man could have.
The trip was longer than Esben thought it would be and it was hot and would have been boring if it hadn’t been for Mr. Hodge, an official with the Bureau of Indian Affairs that he called the BIA, sitting to the right of Esben. He was wearing fancy cotton pants with pin striping and a clean white shirt and a tan buckskin jacket with fancy bead work and fringes that blew in the warm dusty wind that was brought in from the trail through the windows of the stage. On his feet he wore moccasins that went up to his knees. Esben noticed the handle of a big knife protruding from the top of his left moccasin. Hodge was a big handsome man with jet black hair. His bright blue eyes were alive and danced around, looking everywhere as he spoke.
It was obvious to Esben that Mr. Hodge liked Esben’s mother. His first name was Jim and he had a weathered face, darkened by the sun with deep creases running down each side of his nose to his mouth. Sitting on top of his head was a small pork pie hat with its brim flipped up and an Eagle feather sticking out the back. Mr. Hodge spent the past ten years living with the Indian tribes in the Wyoming Territory and he said that the shirt and moccasins he wore was a present from a squaw he knew.
Esben didn’t know what a squaw was until Mr. Hodge told him that the squaw was like his wife.
Esben had been fascinated with the stories Mr. Hodge told of the different Indian Nations he was in charge of, the Sioux, Cheyenne, Crow, Flatheads, who put their heads between boards to flatten them, the Snakes, Utes and especially the Siksika, who were original residents of the northern plains and which is translated to Black Foot in English, the name coming from the dark moccasins they wear. Mr. Hodge said they sometimes are called Black Feet, which they do not like. Esben thought that was a funny name for a nation of people to be called.
There wasn’t a cloud to be seen and the sun was dropping rapidly in the blue Wyoming sky when Esben heard a shot from a rifle.
“What was that?” He asked no one in particular.
“A rifle shot,” Corporal Johnson replied as he leaned out the stage window looking behind them.
“Crow! They have been causing trouble lately all along the Overland Trail. We have been forcing them back on their reservation but there are always some renegades who want to cause trouble.”
“Tom, can you reach my rifle behind you?” Mr. Hodge asked.
Tom was Tom Franklin, a slender young man who wore glasses and a brown suit with a white shirt and a string tie hanging from his neck. He had dark brown hair and pale white skin and was a banker out of the city of Saint Louis. He was going to run a bank his father had recently opened at Fort Laramie, Wyoming.
Esben heard Billy McCloskey yell at the team of big horses pulling the stage to get moving. Then he heard the crack of Billy’s whip as he snapped it over the leaders’ head. The stage began to pick up speed as they rounded a corner traveling through an escarpment of rocks on both sides of the trail.
The two Buffalo Soldiers in the coach had already drawn their Colt pistols and each moved to a window. There were two more Buffalo Soldiers on top of the stage. One was next to Billy McCloskey on the front seat and the other in the boot in the back of the stage. Each carried a Spencer repeating rifle made by Henry Spencer which was first introduced to the Union Army in 1862. Most Buffalo Soldiers were outfitted with old Spencer Carbines. But the army wanted the Overland Stage route to be safe from attacks from the Indians so they armed these soldiers with new rifles.
As they emerged from the escarpment, Esben could see a band of ten riders descending on them from the west.
“Miss Hjerstedt, you best get your boy down on the floor and you lie on top of him. Don’t want you two to catch a stray bullet,” Mr. Hodge yelled.
It wasn’t long before the stench of sulfur from the guns filled the air in the coach. That along with the fear of dying caused Esben to feel sick to his stomach.
“Just stay still, Esben. We will be alright,” Corinne assured him.
Esben felt the additional weight of Corporal Johnson fall on him when he was shot in the forehead, killing him instantly and dropping him on the floor of the stage coach.
Esben heard Mr. Hodge cry out that he was hit too and then he heard him cry out as he was struck again. Now Esben was getting claustrophobic as the bodies started to pile up on him and Corinne.
Next it was Tom Franklin who cried out as he was struck by a bullet and he too dropped to the floor.
It wasn’t long before another round brought down Private Davis. Now it was only Esben and Corinne alive, buried beneath the bodies of the men they were riding with.
Soon the shooting stopped and he heard the whooping of the Crow as they surrounded the stage bringing the horses to a halt. Billy McCloskey was slumped over dead in his seat while the Buffalo Soldier who was riding next to him had been shot and fell off the stage along with the soldier who was situated in the boot in the back of the coach who was shot and killed as well.
Esben was hoping they wouldn’t see him and his mother buried beneath the bodies of the men lying on top of them but that wasn’t to happen.
The Crow began to drag each man out and proceeded to scalp each one. The Buffalo Soldiers were already bald and the Crow thought that was funny and laughed when they removed the soldier’s hat to take their scalp.
Two Crow grabbed Corinne while another grabbed Esben, clutching him by his hair getting ready to scalp him as well.
Esben saw a Crow jump from the coach grasping the bright red scalp that once was attached to Billy McCloskey’s head.
They ripped off Corinne’s clothing and tied her spread eagle and naked on the ground in front of Esben making him watch.
He closed his eyes and screamed. The Crow holding him spun him around and hit him in the face knocking him to the ground.
He heard a rifle shot and thought they shot his mother but the Crow warrior who had hit him fell to the ground beside him bleeding from a big hole in his back. He was dead.
Then another shot rang out and another Crow dropped over dead.
Esben got up and ran to his mother and threw himself over her to protect her from being shot.
“Run Esben, you can’t do anything to help me. Please save yourself. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Esben looked over and saw Mr. Hodge’s body next to them and he got up and pulled the big knife out of his moccasin. He ran back and started cutting the rawhide the Crow used to tie his mother’s arms and legs.
Six of the remaining eight Crow warriors had just been killed by an unknown marksman and the other two mounted their horses and took off, riding away from the stand of rocks where the shots were coming from.
Corinne picked up what was left of her dress and put it on, covering herself the best she could.
Soon a lone rider came out of the rocks riding slowly toward them. It was another Indian riding a black and white paint stallion.
He carried a Springfield buffalo rifle on his thigh, pointing in the air as he approached.
“Grey Wolf,” Corinne whispered. She had seen him many times when he came in Captain Peterson’s office to complain of the treatment and foul food his people were receiving from the Bureau of Indian Affairs and a Mr. Clements, the procurement officer who provided food to the different Indian nations in the Wyoming territory.
Grey Wolf stopped and swung his leg across his horse’s back and jumped down in front of Corinne and Esben. He reached in a small deer skin pouch secured around his waist and brought three white buffalo bones, honed to a sharp point. He grabbed the neckline of Corinne’s dress and thrust one of the bones through the fabric, securing it around her chest. He did the same down the front of her dress with the other two bones, covering her naked body. He stared at her for a moment before turning and walking to his horse. He grabbed the horsehair reins and his horses’ mane and swung up on its back. He kicked its sides and trotted to where Corinne was standing.
They stared at one another for a moment while Grey Wolf’s horse tossed its head and pranced around, anxious to get going.
Grey Wolf thrust out his arm in her direction.
“Come”, he said.
Corinne stood for a moment staring intently at Grey Wolf before turning and saying to Esben.
“We can’t stay here, Esben. Let’s go.”
She reached out her hand and grasped Grey Wolf’s forearm as he grasped hers and pulled her up behind him on his horse.
Grey Wolf turned and looked at Esben. At first Esben was afraid he was going to take his mother and leave him there all alone.
“Come”, he said again extending his arm in Esben’s direction.
Esben grabbed it and Grey Wolf picked him up and placed him in front of him and all three of them rode off together, to where, Esben had no idea.