Goodbye, Fort Laramie

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August 15, 1878, Fort Laramie, Wyoming Territory

After three letters in as many as three weeks from Mama, Pa finally sent a telegram (which costs a lot!), pretty much reminding me that my time working with the horses and living on my own at Fort Laramie is fast coming to an end. I have nearly fifty dollars saved from my work. That’s the most money I’ve ever seen in my whole life.

True, I’ve missed Mama and Pa, but I don’t want to leave the horses. And I have friends here too. Randy McGuire and I have become good chums. Best of all, Midnight finally beat Randy’s horse last week. With a dry, hot wind blowing my face raw and sunburned, Randy and I raced across the Wyoming prairie one last time.

The next day, Major Bradford, the commandant, traded my fifty dollars in cash for what he calls a “bank draft,” which means it’s much safer when I have to travel, and any bank down in Arizona Territory will cash it for me, and I can get the greenbacks. I folded the bank draft carefully and put it in the button-down pocket of best shirt. He also gave me a railroad ticket for the first leg of my journey.

The draft is written out to me or to Pa, in case a teller in the Apache Fort area doesn’t believe a twelve-year-old boy could have so much money at one time. Pa will make sure I get my money, or … he might encourage me to keep it in a bank. We. Will. See. Not sure I trust banks. They get robbed sometimes, at least a lot of them do in the dime novels I read.

The major, the captains, the sergeants, and Pa’s old troop pooled their money together and gave me twenty dollars in greenbacks and coins. “It’s a long way to Arizona, lad,” Sergeant Tulley said, pressing the money into my hand. You’ll need money for food at the stage stops and when the train changes stations. You will need to spend a few overnights in towns or cities too, and have enough money for stagecoach tickets.” I thanked my friends and slipped the coins into my trouser pocket.

By the end of the week, I was ready to go. I didn’t have much. One carpet bag of clothes, a few of my favorite dime novels, and that’s about it. Major Bradford insisted I wear my Sunday go-to-meeting clothes and a newsboy cap (which is too big for me), so I stuffed my cowboy hat and everyday shirt into the carpet bag. By the time I get to Arizona, the hat will probably be squished. Sergeant McGuire (and Randy) drove me all the way to a railroad stop along the Union Pacific line and waited until Midnight was safely loaded onto a cattle car. I wanted to ride with him, but neither the railroad conductor nor Sergeant McGuire would let me. I was forced into the passenger car, but this trip’s not over yet!

For now, I’m sitting here on a slippery, velvet seat trying to catch up in my journal before I slide off. My seatmate is a grumpy-looking old man. He looks like a banker, with his top hat, white shirt, vest, and black suit. He smokes a cigar, which makes me cough. I think I’m done writing and am going to simply watch the scenery go by until it gets dark, or until we have to change trains. I think that happens in Denver. Denver is that tiny dot in the red circle.

August 15, the same day

Well, what do I know about railroads? Not much. The train never went as far as Denver. Nope. We met the stagecoach on the old Mormon Trail, and the conductor made sure I got off and got on the right stagecoach. I nearly forgot about Midnight! I begged the conductor to open the cattle car and get Midnight out. Then, while I waited for the stagecoach, I bought grain and fodder for my horse and grabbed a bite to eat at the way station.

I already hate this trip. And I think it’s going to get worse. Nobody told me exactly how far it is to Fort Apache. With a little digging, I figured out it’s about 900 miles! It’s going to take weeks and weeks to get there! I hope Pa and Mama don’t worry about me!

August 16, the same day

It’s hot and dusty and crowded in the stagecoach. What a horrible way to travel! I already miss the cigar-smoking banker from the passenger car yesterday. I spent a miserable night in the livery stable at a way station. I curled up with Midnight but didn’t sleep much. I was afraid I would miss the stagecoach. Now, I’m wishing I had missed it.

August, but who knows the date?

We traveled for days in this bumpy, rocking excuse for a stagecoach. People come. People go. I stay. Unfortunately. One good thing. I made friends with the stagecoach driver and he lets me sit up top most days, or better yet . . . he lets me untie Midnight from the back of the stagecoach and allows me to ride him for hours. The stagecoach changes horses every 10 or 15 miles, but since Midnight is not pulling the coach, he barely sweats. Sam, the driver, thinks Midnight is quite the endurance horse. I worry sometimes, but there’s no chance I’ll leave him behind, even if I have to get off the stage and make my own way to Fort Apache.

We are heading east, of all places! After at least a week of steady driving, we ended up in western Missouri, headed downriver on a steamboat. That boat was huge, and there was even a place for Midnight. He was on the main deck with the cattle and stacks and stacks of firewood. I slept on that deck too since I did not have to pay extra for a cabin. If Pa and Mama could see me now! I wonder if they came this way too, and I bet they did. Everybody is really nice aboard the Missouri Queen. It was a short trip and I caught another stagecoach at the Santa Fe road in Independence, Missouri.

I decided Pa and Mama needed a telegram to let them know I was okay and still on my way. It was a quickie, as I didn’t want to spend a lot of money on it.

I’m in Independence STOP Headed on the Santa Fe Trail STOP See you in a few weeks STOP Riley

August 25, 1878

I finally figured out the date when I was resting Midnight in Independence. The good thing about a city? When older ladies find out I’m traveling all by myself “way out west,” they offer me bed and breakfast, and even supper. I’ve saved so much money by working for the livery owner to pay for Midnight’s board. In fact, if Mama and Pa weren’t waiting on pins and needles for me to get there, I’d work here. The livery owner seems like a right nice fellow, and he could use the help with his horses, but . . . well . . . I’m missing Pa and Mama, so I’m off in another day or two.

September . . . sometime . . . 1878

I am very tired. The good news? I’ve gotten used to stagecoach travel. The bad news? There are no more “easy” stagecoach routes after we hit Santa Fe in New Mexico Territory. I think Midnight is tuckered out too. I’m not sure how I’ll get from Santa Fe to Fort Apache in Arizona, but since Santa Fe is a decent-sized town (so the stage driver told me), maybe I can rest Midnight and then find a group of cowboys headed south. I don’t want to travel alone. This country looks like desert and I don’t want to get lost.

September 20, 1878

I made it to Santa Fe, New Mexico. Finally! And thank you, Jesus! Santa Fe is a bustling city of nearly 6,000 people. I hear tell that when the Pilgrims were landing at Plymouth Rock, Santa Fe was already a busy center of Spanish–then Mexican–government. I don’t rightly care about the history. Just so long as I can rest and Midnight can rest. I still have eleven dollars and fifty-two cents. Part of me wants to explore the city. The practical side of me wants to find a telegraph office to let Pa and Mama know I’m less than 300 miles away! I chose the practical side. I can explore the city later.

Oh, wonder of wonders! When I went to the telegraph office to send the wire, Mr. Peabody, the telegrapher, told me to “hang on there, sonny!” When he found out my name, he riffled through a whole stack of telegrams until he found one . . . for me! It had been sitting there for over a week. I read it as fast as I could and tears stung my eyes.

Stay in Santa Fe STOP Will be there 30 September with a complement of soldiers STOP We will ride to Apache together STOP Love Pa STOP

This gives me five glorious days to rest, to get Midnight back into shape for the 300-mile ride to the fort. And Pa’s bringing soldiers along! I confess my heart skipped a beat at that news. Is it not safe to travel alone in Arizona territory? If not, why not? Indians? It’s been a long, long trip (a month at least!), and I’ve had an adventure. I’m nearly 13 and I feel pretty good about being able to take care of myself on this trip. True, it’s been a tame adventure because not much happens when you travel by rail or by stage on established routes. But now? I think I’m really, really headed into what the city folk call the “Wild West.”

And I’m awfully glad Pa will be by my side as I ride Midnight to my new home at Fort Apache, Arizona Territory.