Chapter 4: The Past
You with the reb army?
In a left handed sort of way.
Quantrill’s Raiders- mighty tough outfit.
So I’ve heard.
The dispatch was filed March 8, 1866.
From: Northern Missouri Military District. Captain Schaefer, 8th Union Calvary, Commanding.
To; Headquarters, Georgia Military District, Dalton, Georgia. Major General Stevens, Commanding.
DAYLIGHT ROBBERY OF RYDER BANK, LEXINGTON, LAFAYETTE COUNTY, MISSOURI MARCH 4 THIS INSTANT… STOP… BANDITS ESCAPED WITH FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS IN UNION COINS…STOP…PURSUIT TOWARDS INDIAN NATIONS…STOP…TWO BANDITS FLED SCENE…STOP… ONE IDENTIFIED. DESCRIPTION FOLLOWS: JAMES MILNER AGE UNKNOWN, 5 FEET 10. BLACK EYES, THICK STUBBLE, BULLET SCAR ON LEFT ARM…STOP… WANTED BY U.S. MILITARY AS EX GUERILLA FIGHTER…STOP… MILNER REFUSED AMNESTY, 1865. ARMED AND DANGEROUS…STOP… SIX THOUSAND DOLLAR REWARD OFFERED…STOP… DEAD OR ALIVE.
The stranger stood on a ridge overlooking a flat plain. His gaunt face scanning the valley. The posse was hot on their trail, as they had just stolen six thousand dollars in cash. The robbery had gone to plan until a small force of Union soldiers had mysteriously appeared in the town. Then the real action started as James and the stranger, .44’s blazing, had hastily retreated to their horses, fleeing the scene. The posse was just far enough behind, as they ducked behind a ridge outside of town. However, dust filled his view as the riders came riding out of the tree line. “Riders ‘head,” yelled the stranger as he hopped on his roan. James Milner quickly turned, as he spurred his horse towards the Indian Nations.
After the death of his wife and child, the stranger had joined Quantrill’s Raiders to combat the Union forces during the latter stages of the civil war. He had ridden with the likes of Josey Wales, William Quantrill, Fletcher Taylor, Bill Anderson, George Todd, and Dave Pool, all legendary gunfighters. These gunfighters had terrorized Union Supply lines and struck towns across the Kansas- Missouri border. After Quantrill lost control of the raiders, the stranger joined up with “Bloody” Bill Anderson. After the war, he did as many did and refused amnesty. This refusal led many to have sizeable bounties placed on their heads, the stranger one of them. These men roamed the landscape, fighting and living like animals, always evading capture as they blended into the landscape. As the years passed, their numbers thinned and the guerilla fighters were almost forgotten. Now, only a few remember…
James trotted ahead of the stranger as they slowly rode into the Indian Nation. “Buck… remember…how you and Josey use to…,” his voice trailed off…
Josey and the stranger lay waiting in the tree line, the silent howl of the wind ruffling the heavy coats of the horses. The burly figure of Josey Wales looked at the stranger, and slightly nodded. The two men emerged from the wood line at a soft canter, their steely gazes focused on the road ahead. Then it happened, “Yeeeeeiiii,” the rebel yell sounded throughout the forest as both horses broke into a full gallop towards the hill. Behind the hill, William Quantrill let out a shrill yell as he dashed from the tree line into the swarming horde of Union soldiers as hundreds of raiders followed. Guns blazing, men shouting, smoke filled the battle as the raiders cut the Yanks down. Josey and the stranger emerged from the behind the hill cutting off the Union’s last line of escape. The two led the sweep of the area, essentially circling the convoy. The cloud of black powder stung his eyes as the blue uniforms dropped like flies. Lead flying everywhere as the raiders hipped and hollered as they fired their pistols. The horses trampling men underfoot, blood seeping into the dark ground, total chaos on the battlefield. As soon as they arrived, the raiders had left, only the remnants of the supply column left. Josey Wales and the stranger slowly disappearing into the thick Missouri forest.
The memories of their former friends flooded both their minds, as they gazed silently ahead. The stranger kept an emotionless face as looked dense brush ahead. “You still mad ‘bout me callin ye Buck?” James asked. The stranger looked at him and deeply grunted. “Well hell, we found you in them woods, with that damn scar ‘roun yer neck and was chewin on that fresh deer you had kilt,” James paused, “Where in the hell did ye get that scar from Buck?” The stranger cringed slightly, “Ain’t none of yer damn business”. About that time, an arrow flew through the air hitting James square in the chest. “Aaaahhh,” he screeched as his body crumpled off his horse and hit the cold Missouri ground. The stranger spurred his horse forward twin .44 pistols blazing as he fired towards the source of the arrow. Jumping off the horse, he then grabbed James bloody form, chucked him on the horse and sped off into the wilderness.
Three hours later, James and the stranger were back in the heart of Missouri. James wound had stopped bleeding but the wound was festering rapidly. The stranger rapidly sawed off both ends of the arrow with his steel knife. “Jes keep still,” whispered the stranger as James writhed in pain, “I got to close this festerin wound”. The stranger reached into the fire and grabbed a hot iron, and placed a rag in James gaping mouth. The dull red iron singed as the flesh burnt away, as it slowly cauterized the wound. James screamed out in pain, his teeth vehemently biting the dirty rag. Milner’s glazed eyes slowly started to close as he drifted into a pain induced slumber. The stranger slowly helped his friend to the ground as the sun lowered in the distance, as the daylight started to fade.
The shadows of the campfire danced on the strangers face as he stared into the burning embers. The face of the man twisted as he stared into those glowing embers and thought of his place back in Georgia. James stirred, as he lay on his bed roll, his wound apparently bothering him. The stranger slowly got up and walked to check on the horses peacefully grazing in the field, the moonlight illuminating the forest. Suddenly, a branch snapped, the stranger spun around, hand on his pistol. Out of the forest, walked a fearsome black bear into the clearing sniffing around for food. The stranger warily eyed the creature as he rummaged through their equipment… then the hungry creature ambled towards the horses. The horses reared back in fear, as the beast approached, the stranger raised his pistol and fired into the black hulk of the creature. A shrill yelp was heard as the creature limped into the woods, the .44 caliber bullet was firmly lodged into its right leg. James jerked suddenly wide awake, “Hell was that Buck?” he asked. “Jus a bear, nothin to get worried ‘bout,” the stranger coolly said. The stranger slowly walked back to the fire, leaned against a log and pulled the large hat over his eyes.
Two weeks later the lone stranger traveled to Texas, as the search for the men died off. James had split off from the stranger in the Missouri Mountains, citing his wish to stay in the heart of the Confederacy. Before he left, James had given the stranger a small golden pocket watch. He had said, “Found this at yer homestead in the ruins of yer house, I was figurin you might be lookin fer it”. The stranger slowly nodded his thanks, as James walked into the thick countryside.
In the ever expanding plain, stood a modest homestead made of clay. In the front of the homestead stood a tall brick arch, a man hanging from it, as the body swayed back in forth. Underneath the body, a teenage boy lay on the ground, his dusty face streaked with tears. “Emilio,” the boy whispered to the body above him, “I shall have my revenge.” This is the last time the boy would cry.
The stranger rode up as the boy struggled to get up off the brown earth, his hands tied behind his back. Hopping off his horse, the stranger lifted the boy to his feet, as he cut the rope. The boy looked at the stranger, and said, “Take me to Dodge City”. As the boy hopped on, he removed a harmonica from his pocket…