Jake Cleary and the Colorado Reckoning

Jake Cleary and the Colorado Reckoning

Michael Westborn

Copyright ©2016 by Michael Westborn

Smashwords Edition

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 1

Fort Ross, home of the 9th Cavalry, Craig, Colorado. Early April 1876.

Fort Ross was located in the northwest sector of Colorado, roughly fifty miles from Meeker. Meeker was a small, wild little town used mostly by the surrounding ranchers and farmers for supplies.

Occasionally, trappers coming out of the Rockies would stop there for entertainment at the local brothel and to sell or trade what goods they had. It was said Meeker had the finest brothel in the territory.

Located in a small valley, Fort Ross was built of logs set deep in the ground. Ross was located and constructed for the protection of the settlers against the bands of Indians that terrorized northern Colorado and southern Wyoming.

There was mist in the air on a cloudy day when Lieutenant Russ Vane walked into the stable. Russ wasn’t a big man in his early forties. He was what they called a lifer-- his home was the army. The look of a hard, seasoned warrior was reflected in his wrinkled face. When Jake Cleary first arrived at Fort Ross, Russ kept him on all the burial details. He once made Jake dig a grave when there was no body.

When Jake asked who it was for Russ, who was a sergeant at the time, sharply replied For you when you get careless.

Jake, like all the troopers at the fort, treated Lieutenant Vane with great deal of respect.

Hey, Jake, you in here?

Over here, Russ.

In the corner stall brushing a black and grey stud stood Corporal Jake Cleary. Jake was 6' 2" tall with wide shoulders, narrow hips, black hair, coal black eyes, and a smooth face as he was barely 20.

Jake was the son of Irish immigrant farmers. They came from Ireland for a better life and to own the land they worked. They brought with them generations of experience of raising horses and living off the land that someone else owned. They also brought with them the honor and dignity that only hard times and years of tough living instilled in them. The Clearys were honorable, hard working, honest people who instilled those traits of honor into their sons. Jake still carried a slight Irish accent, over the years he had lost most of the Irish sound, except when he was angry or excited then it crept out and everyone knew that heard this accent Jake was riled. Jake had the look of a ranch hand who was used to hard work and tough times. He arrived at Fort Ross shortly after his sixteenth birthday. He was at Ross a little less than six months when he was informed his older brother Sean had been killed by a Kiowa hunting party.

Over the next few years his sorrow turned to a boiling hate for the Kiowa. Everyone knew he could be like a grizzly bear with a toothache when provoked. Jake was an honest man; his word was his bond. He had a short violent temper that had gotten him into trouble more than once. A deep scar on his chin was one of the reminders he carried due to his compulsive, short temper.

What’s up Russ? Jake asked.

Well, Jake, you know your hitch is up in two days.

Yeah, I been counting ‘em down, Jake replied.

Is there any way I can talk you into reenlisting? the lieutenant asked.

"None I can think of Russ, I’ve done my hitch and I wanna get home to see my folks.

It’s been three and a half years. I got a yen for Las Animas and the ranch. My folks are getting old and they need my help."

Ok, Jake, your papers got here today. You get a month’s wages and twenty dollars discharge pay, a train ticket home or a mount of your choice since you brought one with ya when you enlisted, Vane said.

You can keep the ticket, I’ll take Saber since I broke him and we been keeping company the last three years. Jake said.

Saber was a tall black stud with a narrow grey stripe on his right front shoulder that run down his leg almost to his knee resembling the blade of a saber. That gave the horse his name.

Ok Jake. I’ll get you a bill of sale for the horse. You can leave in the morning, Russ said.

Sounds fine to me Russ. Say, Russ, have you seen Pat Brennon? Jake asked.

Yeah, he’s been out on patrol. He just got back to the post. They ran into a small war party, one of them Injuns shot his horse. You know Patty. He got the Injun; then he took his pony. He sure looked funny riding in on that painted up a pony, with that long red hair of his and him carrying his saddle. Guess he tried saddling that pony, the pony didn’t take to the saddle. Took to dragging Patty through the desert; so he carried the saddle back, Russ said with a laugh.

I’ll go run him down Russ, need to talk to him ‘ fore I pull out in the morning, Jake said.

Stop by the captain’s office, Jake, sign some papers, pick up your pay, and you’re a free man, Vane said. Lieutenant Vane then turned and walked away.

Jake finished brushing Saber then left the stable to find his friend Pat. Crossing the yard, he saw Pat coming out of the infirmary.

Hey Pat Jake hollered.

Pat turned and saw his friend of almost four years. Pat Brennon was what would be described as a bull dog not quite six feet tall, muscular with big arms and big hands. He looked almost square with long red hair and deep blue eyes. Jake knew Pat as a true, loyal friend with a short temper and an iron will. Jake also knew Pat used to be a buffalo hunter and was the best rifle shot in the company and the best he had ever seen. He also knew because of Pat’s past he couldn’t go back to Texas. He didn’t know exactly why and wasn’t going to ask. He just knew Pat was his friend who saved his skin more than once.

As Pat and Jake walked closer, Jake laughed and said, Doc been picking cactus outta your ass?

Yeah and he missed some, hold this here, he said. After handing Jake his Henry rifle which was never far from him, he bent over and started picking quills out of his leg.

I hate that horse, Jake, oughta give ‘im back to them injuns.

Jake grinned, "Today’s my last day Pat. I’m free tomorrow and I’m heading home.

What you say after chow we head over to the stockade, have a drink and play a hand or two. Like to buy you one ‘fore I leave, Pat, Jake said.

You gonna buy me more than one, Pat answered.

Hell, Pat, I knew that, Jake commented.

After chow at the company mess, Jake and Pat headed for the stockade for a hand of poker and a mouth full of whiskey. Jake wanted to say his goodbyes to his pal Pat.

Jake, there’s a trapper come out of the Rockies today, looking for a drink and a game. Could be we can take his money ‘fore he takes ours, Pat said.

Maybe we’ll get lucky, uh, Pat, Jake replied.

And you’ll need it the way you play, Jake.

Both men laughed and walked into the stockade. Down the end of a long hall between two rows of cells, sat three men, two in blues, and one wearing skins. A few feet to the left stood a pot belly stove.

The man in skins was dealing and talking loud. As the two headed for the table, they looked at each other and grinned, Jake saying, This might be easy.

The trapper was in leather pants and shirt the stitching showed they were homemade. He was unbathed, had rotten teeth, smelled bad, and drank too much.

You soldier boys hankering to play a hand or two, he growled. They call me Harmon, them what speak to me." Just as the trapper spoke, Jake noticed a Sharps rifle with a flat eight barrel leaning against the wall within arm’s reach of the drunken trapper.

We’ll play a hand or two, answer Pat.

Well, grab a chair then; ante is one dollar, five card stud; you deal, Harmon said.

Jake pulled a chair as Pat grabbed one to his right. As it worked out, Jake was directly across from the trapper.

Pat took the deck then everyone pitched a dollar and Pat started to deal, Jake opened with a dollar bet. The two troopers followed, Harmon raised the bet to three dollars to Pat. The troopers folded along with Jake. Pat raised five and Harmon caved in; Pat took the pot.

Harmon hollered. You boys wanna pull of this jug?

The private to Jake’s left got up to reach two tin cups sitting on the stove behind the trapper. Pat grabbed the cups and poured a stiff belt in each cup.

To you Jake and your freedom, Pat said as he raised his cup. Both men drank it down. Have another? called Harmon.

Not while playing poker, Jake said. Pat agreed.

After an hour or so, the troopers left the game to go on guard duty, leaving Jake, Pat and Harmon. Harmon’s funds were looking slim. It was Pat’s turn to deal; the three men anted up. Just as Pat started the deal, the door came open.

In walked Sergeant Drake with a Kiowa Indian in tow. Drake opened the cell door and threw the Indian to the floor. Momentarily Jake’s hate filled eyes rested on the savage lying on the floor. For as long as he could remember the Kiowa had been the enemy of the white man and most all other Indian tribes.

Where’d you get him? Harmon asked.

They sent him up from Fort Lyon for safe keeping. You boys mind I take a seat? Drake replied.

You gonna bet or you gonna jaw? Harmon said.

Jake opened for five bucks just as Sgt. Drake sat down. When Pat heard five bucks, he threw in his hand.

The trapper mumbled. I see that five and raise you twenty, but I’m a little short. You carry me till the morn?

Jake replied, Nope, but I’ll loan you a double eagle on that rifle of yours.

Harmon glanced down at his cards.

Let’s have them Eagles then boy.

Jake didn’t much like being called boy so he just grinned and flipped him the coin.

Harmon grabbed the coin, threw it in the middle of the table, and said, Raise twenty

Jake took a quick glance at his cards and laid them face up for all to see. He was showing three fives and a pair of aces.

Pat laughed and said, I thought you were bluffing.

Just then the trapper jumped out of his chair and threw his cards to the floor, screaming,

I thought I had ya. I had you this time kid. You were bluffing; I was sure.

I don’t bluff and I ain’t no kid. And you’re the worst poker player I ever seen. You better go sleep it off in the stable, Jake said as he raked in the pot.

Just then Harmon stopped cussing and reached for the Sharps leaning against the wall.

Leave the rifle, you don’t own that no more, that’s mine, Jake said.

You ain’t getting that gun, kid, that a man’s gun, Harmon said as he reached for stag handled knife tucked in his belt.

As Harmon picked up the Sharps, Jake jumped to his feet, and moved forward turning the table over. With a lighting fast move of his left hand, he backhanded the drunken trapper across the left cheek, knocking him head long into the pot bellied stove. There he laid out cold. Jake reached down and picked up the rifle.

In a laughing voice Pat said, Whatta you gonna do with that kid?

I wanted this gun as soon as I seen it, Jake answered.

Hey sarge, you got the keys? Me and Pat will drag him in one of them cells to sleep it off, Jake said.

While Pat and Jake dragged him into the cell, Sergeant Drake was picking up the table and chairs.

Good thing the jug was corked boys, Drake said.

Hey sarge, want to ask you about the Kiowa. Fort Lyon is about eighteen miles from my folks place, is there trouble there?

Don’t know Jake, just know he’s from there, The Sergeant replied.

I’ll see you two later, I gotta report to the captain, Drake said.

O.K. Sarge. I was just curious. Sit down Pat I’ll buy you that drink. Jake said.

The next ones on me Jake, Pat answered. Jake replied with a nod. Pat sat down with his pal and poured a belt in the tin cup he picked up off the floor.

Pat, how much more time you got left on this hitch? Jake asked.

Not quite two weeks, Jake, Pat answered.

You still figuring on coming to Las Animas like we planned? Jake asked.

Nothing changed Jake, I still got no place to go.

I got a place for you there Pat. We’ll need you on the ranch, Jake said.

Where is Las Animas? Never been there,

It’s in the southeast, about sixty or so miles from Kansas. When you get to town, check with the sheriff, he knows me and the family. He’ll point you there, Jake said.

Sunrise the following morning found Jake in the stable saddling Saber by the light of the kerosene lantern. He was making ready for a five-hundred mile journey that would return him to his home. Where he was born and raised and return him to his family which meant so much to him. He would also visit the grave of his older brother Sean who lost his life at the hands of the Kiowa, three years earlier.

As the door of the stable swung open, in walked two men, one of them was carrying a lantern about shoulder high as it was dark in the poorly lit stable.

Relax Jake, it’s me and Sergeant Drake come to see you off. As the two men got closer, he recognized Pat. He could see both men had their suspenders dangling down around their knees. One of them was carrying something over his shoulder.

Howdy Jake, the Sergeant said.

You boys up early this morning, Jake said.

You gonna cross them Rockies, Jake, you gonna be needing this,

Pat said as he handed Jake a dark blue parka with a wolf hide collar.

Gets colder than hell up there, Pat said.

Drake moved forward and rubbed Saber on the nose as he said to Jake, Jake you got to surrender that side arm; its army goods.

O. K. Sarge, never thought of it or I’d a give it back yesterday, Jake said as he unbuckled the thirty-six caliber Colt.

Never liked it no how, too little, Jake continued. Now that’s gonna leave me unarmed, being I ain’t got no ammo for the sharps.

I’ll go get them shells from that trapper, Pat said.

No, Pat, shells weren’t no part of the deal,