OT -- Africa! Are you kidding? fiction

[Doc Hudson]

Africa!!! Are you kiddin’?


The evening I left St. Johns, I rode until shortly after dark. I didn’t make much distance, but I figured that Jim Houck and George Nimitz would be able to lead any pursuit in an opposite direction the next morning. I made a pot of coffee and enjoyed Ma Kimbrell’s fine food one last time. I turned in early and slept late.

When I woke the next morning, the sun as already high. I ached in places that I didn’t even know I had places. I had never felt so bad after a fight that I’d won. It took me three times as long as usual to get breakfast together and saddle Beau than it ever had before.

It took me several tries to manage to climb aboard Beau, and when we finally started off, every step he took was agony. I wished that I’d taken Jim Ferris up on his offer of company. I did need the boy’s help.

I let Beau amble along in a Southwesterly direction at a slow walk. I didn’t dare dismount for fear I would be unable to remount. I finally found a spot where there was an abundance of wood, with water near at hand.

“Well Beau old son. This looks like home until I’m able to travel again.”

I slid stiffly from my saddle and slowly went about setting up camp. We stayed there for almost a week as I slowly mended.

Five days later, I’d decided to break camp the following morning and head on toward Tucson. All my cuts were pretty well healed, even the bad one over my left ear, and I was able to walk and bend about as well as usual. That evening after supper, I was sitting by the fire reading my dog-eared copy of Ivanhoe when a rider hailed from beyond the firelight.

“Halloo the camp! May I approach?” shouted the rider from the shadows. His voice was deep and had a trace of a foreign accent, but it sounded familiar.

“Ride on in.” I replied. “But I’d be obliged if you kept your hands in plain sight.” I carefully drew my pistol and concealed it behind my book.

A musical laugh came from the shadows. “A cautious man it seems. I’ll be happy to oblige you. I’m coming in now.”

The rider was mounted of a fine buckskin gelding that was almost as big as Beau, I estimated him at fifteen hands and probably about a thousand pounds. The rider was dressed in a fringed buckskin coat over a dark blue bib-front campaign shirt. His sky blue trousers bore the yellow stripe of the U.S. Cavalry, and were tucked into knee high boots of supple black leather. On his head was a wide brimmed low crowned brown hat. The rider had a compact build, though I could not estimate his height while he was mounted. He had a heavy brown moustache, a patrician nose and sparkling grey eyes that twinkled with sheer joy.

“Good evening,” said the stranger with a smile. “Mind if I dismount? That coffee pot smells very inviting.”

“Light and pour yourself a cup. You look mighty familiar. Do I know you?”

“My name is Burnham. Fredrick Burnham.” He said as he dismounted and dug a tin cup out of his saddlebags. “We met a few years ago in Fort Sumner. You were trailing some train robbers for the Union Pacific and I was guiding a troop of cavalry chasing some renegade White Mountain Apache.”

“You’ve a good eye and a good memory. There is a bag of grain over there next to where my horse is tied, feel free to grain your horse. He looks to be a goodun.”

“Thanks Mr. Williams. I’m sure Cetwayo will appreciate the grain. He has been on grass for over a week now.” Said Burnham.

“You are riding mighty late Burnham. Any trouble brewing with Indians?” I asked.

“No. No Indian troubles. I was looking for you. I met a fellow three days ago who told me about your, uh shall we say your resignation from the Apache County Sheriff’s Office.” Burnham’s friendly grin was disarming.

“Now why would a famous Indian Scout want to hunt a busted up old ex-lawman like me?”

“I’ve a proposition for you. If you are recovered from your overly strenuous resignation, I have a job in mind that I think would fit you quite well.”

“I guess you could say that was one of the more strenuous resignations I’ve ever tendered, but I’m fit and ready to ride. What do you have in mind? You have my curiosity aroused.”

“I’m not at liberty to disclose details, but I’ve been hired to recruit a company of Frontiersmen who know how to handle themselves in a fight and know how to work as part of a team. Everything is strictly on the level and the pay will be extremely high.”

“Burnham I ain’t a hired gunman. I ain’t going to help drive out a bunch of small ranchers, sheep herders, or nesters. If that is the play, I ain’t interested.”

“I would not be interested in any project like that myself. My employer is not a cattleman or sheep rancher. All I can say is that the job will take you outside of the United States, and that I am authorized to issue $100.00 of travel money, and a railroad pass to men that I consider likely candidates for the job.”

“Where would I have to go, if I accepted your offer.”

“The meeting place is Maspero’s Hotel in New Orleans. You have about a month to get there. If you miss the meeting or decide you don’t like the offer, the rail pass will bring you back to the point you boarded the train for New Orleans. Interested?”


“Burnham, you’ve got my interest aroused. But I want a little more assurance that I ain’t sticking my head in a noose. How big a company are you recruiting? And what sort of work are we talking about? Like I said, I’m no hired gun.”

“I’m going to stick my neck out a bit and tell you more than I’m supposed to tell you. To begin with, I did not come looking for you on a whim when I heard you’d quit as Perry Owens’ deputy. I was on my way to St. Johns to see you when I encountered a Bass & Browder muleskinner that told me about the big fight between you and Owens. I came looking for you because your reputation is that of an honest level-headed fellow who is a good in a fight. “

“I’ve been hired to recruit a troop of fighting men to go to Africa.”

“Africa!” I interrupted. “Are you kidding me? Why would any body in Africa want to recruit a bunch of Indian fighters and frontier lawmen to go to Africa?”

“I’m not joking. I said Africa.” Burnham continued, chuckling.
“ My employer has a fabulous mining claim somewhere in Southern Africa. The area is subject to massive raids by a powerful black tribe and there is a need for fighting men to protect the miners until the mine is well established. When the mine is well established, the Colonial power will establish their jurisdiction and the need for a private army will be over.”

“In other words,” I said, “your Boss wants to hire me to help run a bunch of black Injuns off their land? That ain’t my idea of right any more than burning out nesters and sheepmen.”

“If that were the case, I’d agree with you,” said Burnham. “The mining claim is located in a No Man’s Land. It is an area near Matabeleland. The Matabele have a habit of sending large patrols around their territory killing everyone and everything in their path. They call it The Mfecane and they’ve been doing it for about sixty years. They started doing it when Shaka Zulu started building his empire in the 1820’s. The Matabele fled the power of the Zulu and killed everyone in their path until they found a territory far enough from the Zulu and they quit running. They still maintain a No Man’s Land around Matabeleland and do not allow anyone within fifty miles of their homeland. So you will not be dispossessing any innocent tribesmen and will be opposing a well-organized and powerful enemy of all people.”

“How big an outfit are you recruiting? This doesn’t sound like a job for a small group,” I asked.

“It isn’t,” replied Burnham. “I’m supposed to recruit one hundred men, but I am not the only recruiter. Plans are to recruit two or three hundred Americans as fighters and another hundred miners. We will recruit another three or four hundred locals when we get to Africa. This is not going to be a two-bit operation. The only chance we have for success is to come in strong and ready for anything the Matabele can throw at us.”

“How long is this campaign going to last? I can tell that it won’t be a short term job.” I said.

“You are right,” said Burnham. “The contract will be for a minimum of two years with a possible extension of another year at our employer’s discretion.”

“You said something about high pay. How high?”

“I thought we’d get around to that,” chuckled Burnham.

“I’m only human,” I said with a grin. “ and I’m getting old enough I need to worry about my future.”

Burnham chuckled, “I’m really not at liberty to say what wages will be offered. But I can say that you have every chance of returning home comfortably well off. And I doubt if you’d ever make as much money in four times the time you will be gone.”

“You’ve tickled my interest Burnham,” I said. “I’ll take your rail pass and traveling money. I’ve not seen New Orleans since right after the War. That ought to make the trip worthwhile if nothing else does. Have you had supper yet?”

“I hoped you’d ask that question before my stomach started rumbling,” Burnham said laughingly. “I’m hungry enough to eat a horse and chase the rider.”

“In that case, gnaw on a piece of hard tack while I rustle up some beans and bacon to go with the coffee.”

I’ve shared campfires with many men over the years, but Fred Burnham was one of the best. We laughed and talked about a wide range of topics far into the night. We discussed everything from the merits of Scott’s Waverly Novels versus Melville, which rifle was best for buffalo, to our favorite horses, the how’s and how not-to’s of man hunting, and common acquaintances. If I hadn’t let him talk me into this harebrained scheme, I’d have real fond memories of Fred Burnham’s good company.

Next morning, we slept late. The sun was well up before we started stirring. Burnham tended the horses while I got us some breakfast. After a leisurely meal, Burnham helped me pack my gear and saddle old Beau.

“Since I’ve taken your railpass and traveling money, I guess I’ll head on down to Tucson and catch the train.” I said as I mounted. “Which direction are you headed?”

“I’m headed back North. I have some more folks up here I want to talk with, then I’ll amble over toward Santa Fe and Taos. I’ve still got a lot of recruiting to do if I want to earn my pay.” Burnham replied.

“You mentioned that you were recruiting a hundred men, how many more do you need to meet your quota?” I asked curiously.

With a big grin, Burnham said, “Now that I’ve enlisted you, I only need about 95 more. I wanted to nail down my first choices before I started filling in with the second string.”

If I hadn’t been so sunburned and leathery, I’d probably have blushed. As it was, I felt some pride in being among Burnham’s first picks. Partly to cover my embarrassment, I said, “If you bump into a young feller named Jim Ferris as you pass through St. John’s you might want to consider recruiting him. He is a good kid and pretty steady in a fight. The only thing wrong with him is that he needs a little seasoning. But I’d be glad to ride with him again. The boy has lots of promise. Jim Houck and George Nimitz are also good men. Just make George get rid of that darned .45 Long Colt pistol before he leaves town.”

“That .45 Long Colt won’t be a problem. Our employer intends to outfit every man with the same pistols and rifles. It will make less trouble hauling ammunition several hundred miles from nowhere. And I will keep an eye open for those men you mentioned. I appreciate the suggestions.” Burnham answered.

Shaking Burnham’s hand for a last time, I said, “Fare ye well amigo. Keep your top knot on and I’ll see you in New Orleans.”

“Vaya con Dios, and keep your powder dry.” replied Burnham.

[madman4570]

Doc,
What can I say!
Many artists come in many diffrent flavors.
Some with musical instuments,some with a paint brush etc.
You are a artist with words.
Fantastic read! Thank you for sharing your gift.

[Chris83716]

Doc,

Okay now you have me hooked. Think this could be turned into a sticky ??? Hobie are you up for another sticky??

Keep up the good work.

Thanks,

Chris

[RustyJr]

Hope you plan on continuing this story. I agree with the recommendation that it be made a sticky. Thanks posting it.

RustyJr

[ceb]

Ok Doc, I got ya figured, you're gonna git us hooked and then withhold the last chapter ain't ya!!

[Chas.]

Turn into a sticky? I hope it turns into a book.

[Catshooter]

Cat

[kimwcook]

Doc, I can see myself sitting at the fire listening. Good stuff. Yes, we need a sticky.

[firefuzz]

A sticky and please keep going.

Rob