Bullwhip Justice
by
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Late in the day after traveling ten or so miles from the small stand of trees and the wagon, I found a dry camp site on a side hill and can see much of the valley just covered. I saw no movement so started a small fire and made coffee. The gray dog walked from behind a rock and wagged his tail and lay at my feet. He started licking Dumont's blood from my boot. I moved my boot and the dog went to the edge of the camp, lay down quietly and just watched as I moved about. I had gotten little sleep last night so the soft sand in the camp area helped me relaxed and fell into a deep sleep. When I awoke it was the next morning. Moving slowly, I started a fire and decided on hot bacon and hard biscuits for breakfast. Dog had stayed in the camp area so I passed him a hard dry biscuit and he ate slowly like he savored it. I really didn't need another mouth to feed but this guy was really alone except for me so welcome to my table. Cleaning my small frying pan with sand, I looked north and saw a cloud of dust coming my way. I got my glass and saw a column of army soldiers maybe three miles out. As they got closer, I could see they had the wagon that Elmer Dumont had been driving. They followed the valley floor but three of them left the column and climbed to my camp. A Major and two corporals rode up and dismounted. "I'm Major Warren B. Clegg, 7th Cavalry. Saw your camp and had a feeling you might have some coffee for the three of us." "Come on over, Major. I'm Jack Knight from Denver just passing through on my way to Cheyenne from Fort Lincoln." "That's a mighty long trip for a man by himself." "Well, there is a little more to the story. I represent Colt Firearms and their civilian copy of that piece you wear on your side and stop in any place people sell pistols to other people." "Tough job.. Not something I would want to do. Tell me, Jack Knight from Denver, did you see a couple of fellows with that wagon down with my troops?" "Possible. I went around a wagon yesterday back 10 or so miles north of here." "Well, you must have missed their fight with some Indians. Funny happening, I guess, but not for them. We knew they were in this area to sell some repeating rifles to the Indians and thought we knew who they were. "Texas" Dumont and his side kick stole some guns at a fort down on the Missouri River and we thought they came this way." Major Clegg got a cup from his saddle bag and filled it with black coffee from my fire. He found a rock and sat down right next to the rifle I picked up yesterday. " We found 47 of the stolen rifles but there were four empty cases near the wagon so we missed one somewhere. You know.... every one of those rifles had the firing pin missing. Must have been what made the red skins mad because they were not kind to those boys. They had spread-eagled them to the rear wheels and tied them with rawhide to the spokes. We found the wagon with the horses gone about a half mile from the guns and those boys were hard to look at. Not a lot left after the turning wheels against the ground wore off the flopping body parts down to the iron rims.." "You know Jack, the strangest thing about those rawhide ties. They were treated with something and each arm or leg had three loops around it and tied to the spoke with a Bolin knot. My father taught me that knot when I was a young boy. Never gave it a thought about Indians knowing how to tie that knot." Major Clegg got to his feet saying, "Jack, I like your hat band of rawhide and the Bolin knot on the side is a nice touch. By the way, are you a gunsmith by any chance?" I just snickered and shook the Major's hand wishing him good luck as he mounted up and rode off with a warning to watch out for Indians with bows and arrows.
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About the Book
As I grew up hearing stories of my grandfather and his adventures in life, I wrote a novel and called it West by Bullwhip. It was historical fiction but many of the life stories about my grandfather, James Alburn Knight, later picking up the name Jack, and his family were true happenings. Bullwhip Justice has many of the same characters but is total fiction. My publisher for the first book said I had failed to put romance in the book and needed to write about a love interest for my main character. So we now have Bullwhip Justice and a love affair that carries our main character on highs and lows of several magnitudes. It fulfills the meaning behind the title. Jack continues his skillful use of the bullwhip and finds the use helpful in reducing the death rate in the growing west saving the final justice as the perfect place to display the diversity of the bullwhip.
About the Author
I was born May 27, 1936 in southern Oregon. My father and maternal grandfather were both outdoorsmen so I naturally migrated to the adventures of the area laid in front of me. Fishing, hunting, and camping at the high lakes in the Cascade Mountains and following several rivers in the area for steel-head and trout became my passion. Spending a lot of time with both of these gentlemen from about age 10, I listened to stories of my paternal grandfather's adventures and escapades from men who knew him very well and liked to pass these stories on. Sometimes the three of us with an uncle would spend four or five days hiking and fishing the lakes and rivers of southern Oregon. At night at the campfire, the stories would flow.