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  Hogan’s Bluff

  When his father is killed and his sister kidnapped following a confrontation with a powerful rancher it falls to fourteen-year-old Zachariah Hogan to set matters straight. That this would entail his riding with a band of Sioux warriors was something that the boy could not, in his wildest dreams, ever have imagined. So it is that a youngster who has not yet begun to shave becomes embroiled in the last action of the Great Sioux War of 1876.

  By the same author

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  Chisholm Trail Showdown

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  Invitation to a Funeral

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  Long Shadows

  The Last Confession of Rick O’Shea

  Writing as Bill Cartwright

  McAllister’s Last Ride

  Gunfight at Hilton’s Crossing

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  Writing as Simon Webb

  Comanche Moon

  Badman Sheriff

  Showdown at Parson’s End

  A Town Called Innocence

  Hogan’s Bluff

  Harriet Cade

  ROBERT HALE

  © Harriet Cade 2019

  First published in Great Britain 2019

  ISBN 978-0-7198-2878-2

  The Crowood Press

  The Stable Block

  Crowood Lane

  Ramsbury

  Marlborough

  Wiltshire SN8 2HR

  www.bhwesterns.com

  Robert Hale is an imprint of The Crowood Press

  The right of Harriet Cade to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her

  in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All rights reserved. This e-book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Chapter 1

  The day started as had every other for the last twelvemonth or so, with Melanie Hogan and her husband Caleb rising before first light to carry out various agricultural activities that had so far showed little or no return, notwithstanding the most strenuous exertions and unremitting efforts on the part of both husband and wife. This morning, their work entailed planting seed, which, if the experience of the last year taught them anything at all, was not likely ever to grow to maturity. As they sipped their coffee, the sky outside their little home still almost black, Caleb said, ‘I do not know what is to become of us if there is not soon some rain. That seed we planted three weeks ago shows no sign of sprouting.’

  ‘Don’t take on so,’ replied his wife. ‘It is not in reason that this dry spell should go on much longer. Not at this time of year.’ Although she spoke these cheery and comforting words in a bright sort of voice, she was desperately worried. Even by going on short commons herself, there was barely enough food to satisfy the children’s hunger. She conceived it as her duty though to reassure her husband and lend him her support in any way possible; even if it meant half starving herself to make what little rations they did have go a little further.

  By 1876, when Caleb Hogan took the decision to uproot his family and claim the hundred and sixty acres to which he was entitled under the Home-steader’s Act, most of the more fertile and hospitable parts of the Great Plains had already been settled. So it was that his section was in a bleak and windswept corner of Nebraska, almost in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Thirty acres of the hundred and sixty were taken up not by arable land, but by a huge, craggy outcrop of bare rock that loomed above their fields and cast a long shadow over their home in the late afternoon and evening.

  The children were not yet awake, so Melanie and her husband talked in hushed voices for fear of disturbing them. Zachariah, who was coming up to fifteen years of age, was almost as much use about the place as a grown man. His sister Elizabeth though was just eleven and still very much a child. It was when she considered the hardships that her children had faced and were like to face for the foreseeable future, that Melanie’s heart became leaden and she half-wished that they had never left the cramped, two-room apartment in Independence. Still and all, there it was. For good or ill, they were here now and needs must make the best of things.

  After she and Caleb had spent the better part of two hours labouring in the pre-dawn of what promised to be a glorious April morning, they returned to the cabin and Melanie prepared a meagre enough breakfast for the whole family. They had a little milk and some oats, and these she boiled up together and brewed another pot of coffee. It was after rousing the children that she glanced out the window and saw that they had company. It was barely seven, which was, thought Melanie, a strange time for anybody to come visiting. She said to her husband, ‘Caleb, there’s three men without as I think wish to speak with us.’

  Although he had no particular apprehension of danger, Caleb Hogan stood up and went over to where his fowling piece, an ancient scattergun, hung on the wall. He reached it down, cocked both hammers and then walked out to see what the strangers might be wanting.

  The three riders sat at their ease. Although they evidently wished to speak to the occupants of the little soddy, none of them seemed inclined to dismount and knock on the door, preferring simply to wait until the person within the little dwelling came out to wait upon them. Two of the men looked like young cowboys or ranch-hands, being clad in simple, work-clothes. The third presented a very different aspect, being a man in his riper years, perhaps forty-five or fifty years of age. His dress would have been better suited for a railroad journey than going on horseback through farmland, wearing, as he was, a fine suit of dark blue broadcloth. This individual had a pleasant, good-natured and open countenance and when he saw Caleb Hogan emerging from his home, he greeted him cheerily, crying, ‘A very good morning to you, neighbour. I hope it ain’t too early for to be paying calls?’

  ‘I been up these two hours,’ replied Hogan, ‘It’s not so early as all that.’

  This seemed to amuse the man, because he chuckled and said, ‘Well, I reckon that’s set me right! “Go to the ant thou sluggard”, as it says in the Good Book. That would about fit the case here, hey? I’ll allow you got the drop on me there, you farmers put the rest of us to shame with your early rising.’

  Caleb Hogan said nothing, but merely stood waiting to see what would next be said. He had had this fellow pointed out to him in town and knew him to be an important landowner, whose property lay away to the north of Hogan’s own land. There
were rumours that Andrew McDonald, for that was the fellow’s name, was irked by the proliferation of little farms that were springing up around him now and having the effect of hemming in and environing his pastures. At length, Hogan said, ‘It’s right nice to see you, Mr McDonald, but the day is wearing on and I’ve a heap o’ chores to attend. So if you could let me know to what I owe the pleasure of seeing you here today?’

  ‘Ah, a man after my own heart. You won’t waste words. I’ll come straight to the point. I’ve herds to pasture and I want all the land I can get for them. All these little bits of land that Washington parcels out and gives to you fellows is making my life devilish difficult. Devilish difficult.’

  Elsewhere on the plains, not just in Nebraska but also in Wyoming and other territories, there had been bitter ‘range wars’, in which men who had grown wealthy from allowing their cattle to roam wild across the open range became angered by the number of settlers who built fences and blocked off the range. Caleb Hogan had not heard of anything of the sort happening in this part of the country though and wondered uneasily of this was the prelude to a threat. It swiftly proved to be nothing of the kind though, as McDonald at once made plain. He said, ‘I’ve a mind to buy up some of the land which has been farmed hereabouts by honest men like yourself. I’ll pay good cash money for it. Fact is, I’m here to offer you five hundred dollars this very minute, if you’ll sign over your acres to me. I’d say that’s a right generous offer.’

  Melanie had come to the door by this time and was standing and listening to what was being said. She knew that it wasn’t her place to interrupt, but could not help but wonder what was going on. Her mind worked rapidly, as she mentally listed all those whose claims actually bordered Andrew McDonald’s land and wondered if they too had been offered five hundred dollars to leave their land. Why, there must be four other settlers living just between here and the edge of McDonald’s spread. Was he handing out thousands of dollars, willy-nilly, to get the sparse and unproductive grassland that comprised the plots of land granted to former soldiers in this area? It didn’t sound likely to her.

  Caleb’s mind had perhaps been working towards the same end, for he said slowly, ‘You fixin’ for to purchase every section hereabouts? That’ll cost you a pretty penny and no mistake.’

  MacDonald’s smile did not falter. He said, ‘I lay my plans deep. Don’t you set mind to what land I might be acquiring, but just look to your own interest. I’ve five hundred dollars for you this minute, were you only to sign a document that my attorney’ll draw up.’

  Rubbing his chin meditatively, Caleb said, ‘Well, I thank you kindly for the offer, but I’m my own master here. I don’t reckon as I’m wanting to go back to working for another. So the answer will have to be no.’

  ‘No percentage in being hasty,’ replied McDonald, with undiminished amiability. ‘I’ll come by tomorrow and see if we can’t reason that case out to our mutual advantage. Good day to you now.’ With that, he and the other two riders set off north at a gentle trot, as though they had all the time in the world and this little visit had been a matter of small importance to them.

  Turning and seeing his wife standing at the door of their home, Hogan said, ‘What do you make to that?’

  ‘Something don’t listen right about it, is what I think.’

  ‘I’s thinkin’ the self-same thing, my own self,’ said Hogan. ‘Something here ain’t right. Sides which, I haven’t even proved up on this place. I’ve no legal title to it for another year yet. And why offer me all that money? I’ve a notion that when he comes back tomorrow, he has it in mind to raise the ante and see how much I’ll settle for.’

  ‘What say one of us ride over and see if he’s made similar offers to others? This place’d be no manner of use to him without others also give up their land. He couldn’t even get his cattle here without trespassing on others’ land; leastways, not as things stand now.’

  Under the 1862 Homestead Act, any man who had not taken up arms against the United States government during the War Between the States was entitled to claim a hundred and sixty acres of land in the west. All that was required was that he and any dependants lived on the land for five years and improved it by cultivation. Then, he could file title to it and it belonged to him and his descendants in perpetuity. Caleb Hogan knew all this well enough and was accordingly puzzled about the offer of money for surrendering the land on which he and his family were now living. Why, it wasn’t even his and would not be for another four years! Even to sell it would be, from all that he could see, an illegal act.

  Later that day, while his wife tended to domestic affairs, Hogan rode over to see what, if anything, his neighbours could tell him. It didn’t take long to discover that not one of them had been made any offer of the sort that he had received that morning; which immediately aroused his suspicions that there was something irregular about the whole business.

  When first the family arrived in Nebraska a year earlier, travelling in an open wagon hauled by a pair of oxen, they found nothing but a hundred and thirty acres of flat, scrubby grassland, with the rocky bluff towering above it. A fresh water stream flowed from the bluff and meandered through their land, which was a mercy, for it meant that whatever else they lacked, there was no shortage of potable water. Like everybody else, the Hogans constructed a small hut by cutting up rectangular blocks of turf to use as bricks. Because these were cut from the sod, such dwellings became known colloquially as ‘soddies’. For the next year, life was one long and unremitting grind of hard work and severely restricted rations. To begin with it had all seemed worthwhile, because Caleb Hogan was no longer beholden to any employer for his daily bread. Lately though, both he and his wife were beginning to wonder if the game was worth the hardships that were part and parcel of being a pioneer in those parts. A drought had gripped the plains for much of the winter and planted seed showed no present sign of germinating; despite it being springtime.

  After her husband had ridden off to see what might be happening elsewhere in the district, as regarded any other generous offers being made for uncultivated land, Melanie Hogan attempted, not for the first time, to teach her daughter the correct way of kneading dough and turning it into something resembling a loaf of bread. As she set out the board and took out the sack of flour, she said to her son, ‘Zac, I want you to take this here pail and fetch water from the stream. You’re to spend an hour or so watering those seeds that your pa and I planted ’fore you and your sister had even stirred from your slumbers.’

  ‘Lordy Ma, way the ground is now, it’s dry as a bone. A drop o’ water won’t help none. It’ll run straight off. We need a rainstorm or two to do any good.’

  His mother looked at him and said, ‘You think I don’t know that? It’ll be better than nothing though. Off you go, now.’

  The boy seemed disposed to linger, and at the door he paused and said, ‘What did those men want earlier?’

  ‘I don’t rightly know and that’s the truth of the matter. Something’s afoot and I don’t know what. Your father’s gone off to ask around. Off with you now.’

  Two things emerged clearly from Caleb Hogan’s visits with his neighbours. First off was where not one of them had been offered a single cent to vacate their land; he alone had been favoured with such an offer. This in itself was quite sufficient to cause Hogan to smell a rat and suspect that something queer was going on. The second point was that, like him, the other settlers were almost at breaking point and a number were considering abandoning their claims and returning to civilization. If he was any judge of such things, Hogan guessed that unless there was a dramatic turnabout in fortunes, then within a year at most, this part of the plains would be all but deserted again. Which made Andrew McDonald’s offer of such a large sum of money all the more puzzling. A little before midday, Hogan turned the mare around and headed back home to eat.

  After he had apprised his wife of what had passed between him and those who lived nigh to them, the afternoon was spent i
n the usual round of activity. The children collected stones from the ground, which had lately been broken for the first time since Creation by having a plough dragged across it. Hogan himself led the oxen in this endeavour while his wife busied herself in trying to put together some kind of meal for them, when the day’s work was completed. They had hardly any lamp-oil left and so the whole family had taken to retiring at nightfall, as soon as there was no longer enough light to work by.

  The previous day, Hogan had brought down a small buck and this meant that the meal that evening was an uncommonly fine one, with as much meat to eat as any of the family could desire. True, there were no side vegetables, but with some of the bread that had been baked that day they were all able to fill their bellies. While they ate, Hogan remarked, ‘Something’s not right about that affair this morning. It troubles me.’

  ‘Like as not, it don’t signify overmuch,’ replied his wife reassuringly, although she too was uneasy about the business. ‘They do say as some folk has more money than sense.’

  ‘Happen so, but there’s a mystery there. I don’t like it.’

  After they had all eaten their fill and the wares were washed up and stacked away, Hogan led his family in prayer. He was a devout man and one of the reasons that he had wished to leave Independence and come out here into the wilderness was that he viewed some of the goings on in the city as being on a par with what had been seen in the olden days in Sodom and Gomorrah. He knew how that had ended and wished to lead his folks to safety from the wrath that he thought might be about to descend from the Lord.

  ‘Oh Lord,’ said Caleb Hogan, ‘We thank you for all your mercies, specially giving us full bellies this day. Protect us from evil and help us all to grow in righteousness day by day. We ask all this in the name of your son, who came to save us.’ After this short act of thanksgiving, he and his wife and children retired for the night.