Waterhole

Part I - Dodge City, Kansas, 1878

“Pa, how much longer we gotta’ dig this ditch?” Cole asked.
“You gotta’ do more than give it a lick and a promise,” replied his father, Clint, to his six year old son, “or you’ll be there all night long. Maybe you shoulda’ got yerself some quality help, instead of that young ‘slinger over there,” Clint said with a smile as he nodded towards Cole’s best friend, Chad Henry, who was practicing his quick draw with a short piece of a willow tree branch.
Cole Herbert and Chad Henry shared more than just the same initials. They were born just eight days apart, and their parents came to Dodge City in 1871 when the Buffalo trade was centered here. Both fathers had once been Buffalo hunters, right after the War Between the States. For as long as they could remember, they had been best friends.
Chad smiled as he pulled the stick from his belt, aiming his weapon at Clint.
“Better holster that stick, young un, or I’ll show you how my pa used to use it against my backside,” advised Clint, his thick, sandy-colored eyebrows raised.
“Okay, Mr. Herbert. I can’t help it, I want to be a deputy for Marshall Masterson, like you and Joshua Rines and Wyatt Earp and the Marshall’s brother, Sheriff Bat.”
“Well, that’s an honorable goal, but I’m pretty sure that Ed likes his deputies a bit older than six years old,” replied Clint.
“Pa, when you gettin’ back this time?” asked Cole.
“Hard to say boy, depends on the weather, partly,” said Clint. “Take care of yer ma. Expect I’ll see you in a few days, week at the most.”
Clint walked up the path to his small, two room house on the edge of town. Most of the house was taken up by the main room, which included the kitchen, eating area and living room, with a glass window overlooking the front porch. A separate bedroom was shared by Clint and his wife, Katherine, while Cole slept in the loft above the living room, on the opposite end of the house from the bedroom. The house was clean and sparse. The Herbert’s didn’t want for much, nor did they have it.
“Gotta go now, Katherine,” Clint told his wife, in a soft, I’ll-miss-you-type of voice.
“Tell that Ed and the others to make this a quick posse, so you can get back home before that big storm hits,” scolded Katherine, playfully. She lifted her chin, letting her long golden hair fall far down her back and looked up at Clint as they put their arms around each other.
“Be safe, and bring them thievin’ robbers back for trial,” she added with a tone of authority.
“Sure thing, Marshall,” smiled Clint as he gave her a short, but firm kiss on the lips, and a quick, playful slap on her backside. “Be back in a few days, likely,” he said with his back to Katherine as he walked out the front door, onto the porch that overlooked the town from the west.
Far down the dustless street, Clint could see the rest of the posse on horses, waiting to ride. Clint mounted his tall pinto he called Lula, after Katherine’s mother, which she always shook her head about to express her disapproval.
“Bye, Katherine, see ya boys,” sounded Clint as he rode down the street to join the posse.
Cole joined his mother at her side as they watched Clint trot down the street, away from them. It had been a while since he last rode off with a posse, but whenever Ed Masterson needed someone, he turned first to Clint and Joshua Rines for help. Both would be on the posse, along with Bat Masterson, sheriff of Dodge City, and Wyatt Earp. Wyatt had just returned to town July past, after a short stint in Deadwood of the Dakota Territory.
It was a cold January morning, as the group of five men rode out, headed south, towards the Indian Territory.

*********

Two nights gone, Cole was asleep in his loft when Katherine woke up in a daze to a strange sound. She rolled over and turned toward the bedroom door, but before she could focus her eyes she was hit on the back of her head, rendering her unconscious.
Cole woke up early the next morning, like always, and went out to collect the chicken eggs and feed the small bay pony that Clint had brought home for him a few months earlier, which was corralled up behind the house.
When Cole returned to the house, he called out, “ma, when we gonna’ eat, I wanta’ go over to Chad’s. We’s gonna go see if we can help clean out the jail cells afore pa and the others get back.”
There was no answer.
“Ma?” Cole called out again, as he walked across the room and knocked on her bedroom door. “You awake, ma?” he called out. With no answer, Cole slowly opened the door and called her name once more, while his eyes scanned from one side of the room to the other. She was not there.
Cole could not remember a time when his mother was not waiting for him, breakfast ready, once he had completed his chores. He went outside, stood on the porch and called her name again. Still no answer. Concerned, but not worried, Cole walked off towards Chad’s house to see if his ma went there. Chad’s ma had been ailing. His pa had been killed when Chad was four-years old by a drunken cowboy. Clint shot and killed his friend’s murderer. Katherine took to looking after her. Cole knocked, and Chad answered.
“I’m lookin’ for my ma, she here, Chad?” asked Cole.
“Naw, haven’t seen her this mornin’. Could use her though, my ma’s really ailing today,” responded Chad.
Cole looked around Chad to see Mrs. Henry lying flat on a bed in a corner of the one room house the two Henrys’ shared.
“Hope you’re feelin’ better soon, Mrs. Henry,” greeted Cole, as he reached to tip his hat, realizing he had forgotten to put it on, “I’ll send ma over when I find her,” he finished. Mrs. Henry nodded back and gave a small smile in return.
“I can’t find my ma, Chad, I ain’t never known her to be gone when it’s meal time,” Cole fretted.
“I gotta help my ma right now,” said Chad, “but if she gets to feelin’ a better, I’ll come help ya.”
“I’m beginnin’ to feel all balled up.” Cole sounded worried to Chad. “I don’t know where else to look. It’s too early for any stores to be open for her. What should I do?”
“You’re welcome to take a meal with us, but I ain’t much of a cook, like your ma,” offered Chad, “she makes the best bear signs I ever ate!”
“Thanks,” said a somber Cole, “but I better keep on a lookin’. See ya, Chad.”
“See ya, Cole.”
Cole spent the rest of the morning looking for his mother, but she was nowhere to be found. Cole went over to Martha Rines’ house. Her husband, Joshua, was his father’s best friend. The Rines had no children of their own, and Martha had always taken a liking to Cole.
“Mrs. Rines, I can’t find my ma,” a now exasperated Cole cried.
“Come in, boy, come in,” said Mrs. Rines. “What in tarnation are you goin’ on about…where is your ma?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. I woke up and gathered the eggs and fed the pony, then went in the house and I ain’t seen her all day.” Cole’s voice was now shaking and tears welled in his eyes.
“Have you walked through town to look?” asked Mrs. Rines.
“No, ma’am, I ain’t allowed in town by myself.”
The storm that had been expected was beginning to blow into Dodge City.
“Come, boy, lets you and me go in together. We’ll find her,” directed Mrs. Rines.