an air of authority climbed onto a wagon’s foot rest, pushed his broad-brimmed hat back from his forehead, and said, “I’m Gideon Roberts, captain of this wagon train, an’ I intend to get all of you safely to Los Angeles.” He paused a moment and surveyed the crowd before continuing, “But this journey will not be easy. The desert ahead of us holds two enemies: thirst and Indians. Both will try to kill you.”
Until now, Weiser hadn’t thought about getting hurt — much less getting killed! Adam hadn’t said anything about danger or rampaging Indians. The last thing Weiser wanted was to be on the front line of any fighting. But how was he going to protect himself without looking like a coward? Weiser looked over at the farmers and their families, and realized these people might be the answer to his personal safety — or as close as he could get under the circumstances. He raised his hand and said, “Mr. Roberts, sir, if those Indians are as dangerous as you say, someone should stay back to protect the women and children.”
There was a murmur of agreement from the farmers.
Confident he was on the right track, Weiser continued, “Although I’d rather be riding an’ fighting on the front line, I volunteer to stay back and defend these women and children.”
Knowing full well Weiser just wanted to save his own skin, Waltz turned on his heel and walked away.
Weiser saw him go, but didn’t give a damn.
The wagon train pulled out the next morning, and Weiser’s ploy was justified, at least to himself, the very first afternoon, as a war party of Comanche Indians appeared, whooping and racing toward them at full tilt. According to plan, Weiser hid safely in the wagon reserved for women and children as Roberts led the wagons into a circle, and Waltz ran bravely to defend his new companions, shouting encouragement to the terrified farmers and cautioning the men to hold their fire until the last possible moment.
Waltz barely had time to take his place before screaming Comanches were upon them, racing their ponies around the train and sending forth a hail of arrows. These terrifying savages did their best to overwhelm the white men, but were no match for their guns. Making each shot count, the white men waited until they could see the hatred in their enemy’s eyes before pulling the trigger and killing the savage, or at least knocking him to the ground.
After what seemed an eternity, the Comanches retreated, but not before getting off a volley of burning arrows that hit the wagon sheltering women, children, and Weiser, and turning Weiser’s safe haven into a death trap.
Weiser tried to push his way out, but the first woman he touched turned on him with the snarl of a mother tiger protecting her cubs. Weiser’s only alternative was through the flames to the back of the wagon. Shielding his face with his arms, Weiser dove through the roaring inferno, singeing his jacket and eyebrows as he sliced a hole in the canvas with his pocket knife, and jumped to the ground.
Safely on the ground, Weiser looked back at the wagon and saw that everyone’s attention was on saving the women and children and fighting the flames. Without considering going to help them, Weiser smeared ashes on his face and clothing and lay down to await being found. With luck, his sham injuries would land him a ride the rest of the way to Los Angeles.
Waltz made his way to the blazing wagon, expecting to see Weiser settled comfortably out of harm’s way, but Weiser was not with the women. Concerned about Weiser’s safety, Waltz climbed into the wagon, but could not see through the flames. Risking his own death to save his partner, Waltz covered his face with his arms and dived through the flames. Instead of Weiser, however, he found a hole cut in the canvas back of the wagon. Jumping to the ground, Waltz saw a dazed, but most definitely alive, Jake Weiser.
He should have known Weiser would take care of himself. Furious at having been
Until now, Weiser hadn’t thought about getting hurt — much less getting killed! Adam hadn’t said anything about danger or rampaging Indians. The last thing Weiser wanted was to be on the front line of any fighting. But how was he going to protect himself without looking like a coward? Weiser looked over at the farmers and their families, and realized these people might be the answer to his personal safety — or as close as he could get under the circumstances. He raised his hand and said, “Mr. Roberts, sir, if those Indians are as dangerous as you say, someone should stay back to protect the women and children.”
There was a murmur of agreement from the farmers.
Confident he was on the right track, Weiser continued, “Although I’d rather be riding an’ fighting on the front line, I volunteer to stay back and defend these women and children.”
Knowing full well Weiser just wanted to save his own skin, Waltz turned on his heel and walked away.
Weiser saw him go, but didn’t give a damn.
The wagon train pulled out the next morning, and Weiser’s ploy was justified, at least to himself, the very first afternoon, as a war party of Comanche Indians appeared, whooping and racing toward them at full tilt. According to plan, Weiser hid safely in the wagon reserved for women and children as Roberts led the wagons into a circle, and Waltz ran bravely to defend his new companions, shouting encouragement to the terrified farmers and cautioning the men to hold their fire until the last possible moment.
Waltz barely had time to take his place before screaming Comanches were upon them, racing their ponies around the train and sending forth a hail of arrows. These terrifying savages did their best to overwhelm the white men, but were no match for their guns. Making each shot count, the white men waited until they could see the hatred in their enemy’s eyes before pulling the trigger and killing the savage, or at least knocking him to the ground.
After what seemed an eternity, the Comanches retreated, but not before getting off a volley of burning arrows that hit the wagon sheltering women, children, and Weiser, and turning Weiser’s safe haven into a death trap.
Weiser tried to push his way out, but the first woman he touched turned on him with the snarl of a mother tiger protecting her cubs. Weiser’s only alternative was through the flames to the back of the wagon. Shielding his face with his arms, Weiser dove through the roaring inferno, singeing his jacket and eyebrows as he sliced a hole in the canvas with his pocket knife, and jumped to the ground.
Safely on the ground, Weiser looked back at the wagon and saw that everyone’s attention was on saving the women and children and fighting the flames. Without considering going to help them, Weiser smeared ashes on his face and clothing and lay down to await being found. With luck, his sham injuries would land him a ride the rest of the way to Los Angeles.
Waltz made his way to the blazing wagon, expecting to see Weiser settled comfortably out of harm’s way, but Weiser was not with the women. Concerned about Weiser’s safety, Waltz climbed into the wagon, but could not see through the flames. Risking his own death to save his partner, Waltz covered his face with his arms and dived through the flames. Instead of Weiser, however, he found a hole cut in the canvas back of the wagon. Jumping to the ground, Waltz saw a dazed, but most definitely alive, Jake Weiser.
He should have known Weiser would take care of himself. Furious at having been
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