Jacob’s eyes burned from the dust and smoke. Tears mixed with the smoky mixture making his eyes ache. Dust plumed from the earth as the wagon bounced and tumbled eastward from the fort. Smoke billowed from the burning fort blocking out the intensity of the sun as it rose into the Colorado sky. Sweat streamed from his face as hopelessness crept into his soul. There are events in a man’s life that change his destiny. Some of these are easy to see on the horizon of life. Others, however, hit like a tornado on the open prairie without any warning and nothing big enough to change its course across wide-open fields. Only a few men have had what it takes to ride out the storm when the wind blows its hardest. Most simply turn and run, hoping to outrun or outsmart the unavoidable. Jacob’s body ached. He had worked hard to make a life at the fort and forget about the past. The fort, which had been his home, crackled and hissed with flames as the United States and Mexican Armies battled each other within its walls. His hopes and dreams of starting fresh on the expanse of the High Plains began oozing out of his body and made their way through his sweat. His soul burned with a raging fire. Sweat dripped off his scraggly, unshaven face and dropped to the ground leaving small circular dimples in the dry, dusty trail. He couldn’t look up. He stared at the ground as the wagon jarred and rattled on its voyage to the east, back to St. Louis. In time, he’d eventually get back to his home in the hills of western Tennessee. Fort Thomas rose from the bumpy plains of eastern Colorado, nearly blending into the landscape. Its burned brown walls and rounded corners offered an oasis at the end of a long dusty trail. It was the shining city at the end of the Santa Fe Trail before the ruts of the trail crossed over into Mexican territory. It sat just a stone’s throw north of the Arkansas River nestled among the large rolling hills. Once travelers left the fort and headed west or south, they trespassed into a foreign land. The Mexicans’ and the Americans’ patience had finally reached its end. The two were now at war with each other. To Jacob, it didn’t matter. Being right or wrong lost its luster. He only knew the war had come to the fort and he and Milo narrowly escaped with their lives. Off in the distance, cannon fire boomed from the fort. The crackling of musket fire cut through the muffled cries of men who had fallen in the battle. A lone trumpet blast split through the air signaling the men to continue their attack. The screams, the blood and the death shook Jacob’s soul as the explosions from the cannons shook the earth. Jacob’s life on the frontier and at the fort was burning into a pile of ashes. Milo Jackson perched himself in the middle of the wooden seat on the wagon, and screamed at the team of horses at the top of his lungs. Jacob couldn’t see it, but he could hear the relentless crack of the whip. Fear caused Milo not to think straight. Fleeing from the fort pushed Milo further from reality. He whipped the horses out of fear. The more he feared, the more he whipped them. He didn’t know any better. “Hah! Hah!” he screamed into the air and at the horses. “Mexicans takin’ our land!” his pitch rising even higher. “Hah! Hah! Those Mexicans will see what we can give ‘em!” Though Jacob couldn’t see his eyes, he knew Milo was wild with fear. If he didn’t stop him soon, he’d end up whipping the horses to death. A man without a horse on vast open frontier was as good as dead. They would have more trouble on their hands than just getting away from the fort and the Mexican army. A man’s dealt a hand in life and he’s got to play the cards he’s given. Often a memory resurfaces, brought on by the simplest and most out-of-place item that the memory itself is relived in the mind. This was no different for Jacob. He pulled a dirty rag from his back pocket and wiped the sweat from his face. The ragged cloth mesmerized him. He knew it was right for a man to cry sometimes, but he’d never let another man catch him in the act. He did his best to keep his tears out of sight from Milo. Milo couldn’t make sense out of the complex. Milo’s screaming and a hefty bump in the road forced Jacob to lay aside his handkerchief and deal with his companion’s outbursts. “Knock off the screamin’,” Jacob hollered at Milo. “And while you’re at it, you best stop whippin’ those horses like that or we’ll be walkin’ ourselves to St. Louis.” Milo paid no attention to Jacob’s demand, but turned up the intensity and viciousness. “Hah! Hah! You lazy good-for-nothing animals!” bellowing as he continued whipping the horses. His arms shaking with fatigue. Jacob turned and crawled up behind Milo and grabbed the whip from his hand just as Milo was about to crack the whip across the horses backs again. “I told ‘ya, Milo. Stop whippin’ the horses. Can’t ‘ya see we’ll be walkin’ if ‘ya keep it up?” The sternness in his voice caught Milo like two hands grabbing his ears. Panic filled Milo’s eyes. Jacob could see his eyes were wild with fear and animal-like. Change came hard to Milo, and he dreaded life outside the security of the fort. How Milo ever even made it to the fort was a mystery to Jacob. Milo was a follower and relied on others for his care though he didn’t know it.
|