Wanted

Chapter 26

The Indians had decided to stay, for at least until Enkoodabooaoo was going to return.

"Why is that?" John wanted to know.

Jeremiah shrugged. "They wouldn't tell me. I know they are from the same tribe originally. There's not many left of them, so I suppose they have questions for him," Jeremiah said, they were almost finished their work in the barn.

"Did they all starve? Like you said to Edwards? On accounts of the buffalo being gone? Is that why there's not many left of them?" John asked.

Being hungry was something John could relate to and not only because he had been brought up on the stable diet of stories about the Irish Famine.

Jeremiah remained silent for a little while. He wasn't sure what to say. The story was gruesome, and it was not his story to tell, he felt.

"That too, I suppose, but there wasn't many left to begin with. Sixteen years ago, their village was attacked by soldiers one night. Major Baker was the man in command. It happened about 300 miles from here, at the Marias River, close to the Canadian Border. It was wintertime then. Matunaagd and Numees would have been young children at the time. Enkoodabooaoo and the other warriors were out on a hunt. When they came back, they found most of their families slaughtered. Those who survived fled to Fort Benton, but of those a lot died on the way. Many were wounded and it was too cold to be travelling. Enkoodabooaoo has been on his own ever since, chose not to go with them. His entire family was wiped out that night. He blamed himself," Jeremiah ended telling John more than he wanted to.

"Why did the soldiers do that?" John asked.

"I am not sure to be honest. Some cock and bull story over stolen horses and a feud between a small band of Indians and a fur trader turned rancher I believe. It caused other white folks in the area to worry and ask the army to put a stop to it. They were supposed to go after the band of Indians but attacked a village with mainly women and children instead. I left the army after that," Jeremiah said.

"You weren't part of it, were you?" John asked horrified at the thought of it.

"Good Heavens, no. I only arrived at Fort Ellis a few weeks later, but I wasn't going to serve under Baker's command. It was not what I signed up for," Jeremiah said.

"What did you sign up for?" John wanted to know.

Jeremiah sighed. It had been a long day and he had spent most of it in the company of the boy. 'Questions, on top of more questions, all day long,' he mused as he had to think of his German mentor, who used to complaint about him, "Der frägt mir noch Löcher in den Bauch," he heard him complain in his mind's ear, apparently Germans don't pick each other's brains but put holes into each other's bellies.

"Enough questions, for today boy, get back to work, and give them horses their water," Jeremiah ordered as he walked out of the barn, leaving the boy a little dejected. He liked to believe that he didn't mind telling the boy about his past, but he had answered enough question for one day and needed a break.

They had settled into a routine that was determined by the rising and falling of the sun, the weather and the work that needed to be done around the ranch and inside the house.

During the first few days and weeks, the boy worked mainly alongside Jeremiah, almost in total silence. The boy rarely said anything, asked no questions, and usually answered everything with a nod or a shake of the head, or shrug of the shoulders or a word or two in the case of questions that required more than a simple yes or no. Jeremiah did not really mind, he liked his peace and quiet.

It did make the writing of the letter to his friend back East somewhat difficult however. In the end all he could or would tell Jeremiah about his mother was her name, that her birthday fell in the wintertime, when there was snow outside between Christmas and New year. Her approximate age John estimated at maybe 35, but Jeremiah wasn't sure if this was an in any way correct estimation. The boy had guessed Jeremiah's own age at 60 which he tried to not be insulted by, he was only 46. He could tell him that his mother was from Ireland but couldn't say which county or even province. He was able to tell him the name of the station he got on the train where he was handed back to McManus and the name of the couple where his brothers still lived. He told him his mother worked as a waitress but couldn't or wouldn't tell him the names of the saloon or restaurant, only that her place of employment was situated in the Five Point Area and that up until their place burnt down, they lived on Mulburry street in one of the tenements there. He wouldn't or couldn't tell him how long they'd been homeless before his mother disappeared and volunteered no information on how or where he lived after that. He gave no or had no information whatsoever on his father. It was not much to go by but more than he initially thought, and he hoped his friend was resourceful enough to find out something, anything and that this something was something he wanted the boy to know. He hadn't been in touch with his friend for almost two decades, which made him worry he might not hear back from him at all. Once the letter was written and sent off however, John became more cheerful and energetic it seemed.