SEPTEMBER 8, 1861

White settlements in the Wyoming territory during the 1860's usually were located near or around the various army forts and trading posts along the Oregon Trail. Emigrants on their way to the Oregon Country and California passed through the Trail, while families of traders, soldiers, and missionaries eked out their livings within the confines of the forts or their surrounding settlements. This was still the domain of the Northern Plains Tribes and large-scale settlement by the whites was still, for the most part, eight years away.

Some members of the Northern Plains Tribes, among them, the Northern Cheyennes, the Northern Arapahos, and most especially, the Lakota or Sioux as the whites called them, frequented the forts from time to time, trading skins for the white man's utensils such as kettles, knives, and most importantly, guns. Those who came to the forts also would trade with the passing emigrant wagon trains along the Oregon Trail for coffee, sugar, bacon, and other goods of the white man.

Within the tribes, factions developed. Those who thought it best to avoid white contact were known as ‘Stay Aways’. They knew that though the whites were at war with one another now, soon, they would come to try and take their country from them. They knew that the majority of whites thought of them as dirty, as savages, and usually feared and hated them. The emigrants on the Oregon Trail usually traded their goods more out of fear than out of a genuine interest in trade or establishing friendly relations with the Indians. The ‘Stay Aways’ usually did just that. They stayed clear of the whites, as long as they felt that they could be safe without having to fight.

The ‘Hang Around The Forts’ was the name given to describe the group first mentioned above. Not only did they trade with the whites for the aforementioned items, they often times treated their wild cousins with disdain while growing increasingly dependent upon the new Americans. Scorned by their relatives and the whites alike for their halfway lives, not quite Indian, but not quite white either, often they would be the first victims to suffer whenever conflicts between the two races arose. It was only natural, since being so close to the forts, they were the easiest targets to find.

The 'Stay Aways’ and ‘The Hang Around The Forts.’ They often held each other in low regard. But they were still Lakota, still allies by ties of blood and family. When one suffered, the other would rise up to help.

There were many ‘Hang Around The Forts’ Sioux at the civilian trading post known as Fort Bartholemew, located in Southern Wyoming. It was not unusual for them to even visit the nearby township of Horse Creek, which was located equidistant, between the Bartholemew trader's post and the military garrison at Fort Laramie.

Justin and Samantha Calhoun's late mother, Yellow Bird, an Oglala Lakota woman by birth, had been among those who had visited Horse Creek to obtain trade goods while in the company of their father, Captain George Calhoun, a local trader. At that time, however, Horse Creek was just a collection of tents, a mining enclave situated near a recently discovered vein of silver.

Though not an army post, Fort Bartholemew seemed well protected from attacks by hostile Sioux. Rumored to be financed by a former Union officer from Texas who was now a businessman, and a highly successful trader, Fort Bartholemew was garrisoned by a large, well armed civilian force. It was even rumored that the trader's post at Bartholemew had more men, and more arms, than the government supplied, but under-manned, Fort Laramie.

Horse Creek's vein had recently become one of the first fully operational, and privately owned, silver mines in the territory. Originally found in surface deposits, the vein's silver had been stripped from the surface by the first wave of miners to the area. To get at the more rich deposits underneath would take more money and more equipment than the private miner could ever hope to obtain. Thus, the Lucky Strike Mining Company was established, formed, like Fort Bartholmew, by an unknown benefactor and his associates.  The rumor was that it might even be the same man or men whatever the case may be.

Horse Creek itself, was one of the first large scale white settlements in Wyoming.   Naturally, being a town originally founded on the premise of mining, it tended to attract the worst elements of society. Miners, frustrated that their efforts bore little fruit, as well as the fact that their vein was now privately owned by a company that probably already had more money than they knew what to do with, turned to gambling, drinking, thievery, and murder. When not drowning out their sorrows in liquor or women who sold their services at a local house, it was not unusual for these men to murder each other. It was also not unusual for these men to find employment by murderers or at the very least, business men, who made their living through the taking and stealing of innocent lives.  Horse Creek, the stop over between the two forts along the Oregon Trail, was a portent of things to come. Horse Creek was the center of vice, greed, and corruption in Wyoming.

Justin Calhoun, at 6 feet two inches tall and two hundred pounds of muscle, and having worked most of his twenty-eight years of life as a blacksmith, was used to hard labor.  The silver mine was no different except that here, Justin Calhoun was now a captive within its dark confines. Forced to work alongside others who, like him, have been indicted on a dozen trumped up charges brought on by Horse Creek's corrupt Sheriff Newsom and Judge Bowland, he toiled long and hard, digging for the silver ore. With him was a friend he had met here in the mines, Thaddeus Jones, alias ‘Kid Curry’, a former highwayman who had been promised a pardon by Wyoming lawmen for his past crimes, provided that he stay out of trouble for one year.

As Thaddeus worked, he grumbled to himself, "Well, there goes that pardon." 

Justin, also working and sweating, asked, "What? What did you say?" 

Thaddeus responded, "Nothin'!" For no one could know whom him and Heyes really were for they might try to collect the rewards that are on their heads.

One of the guards angrily shouted, "You two down there! No talking in the mines!" The two of them, along with the half dozen other workers continued on with their labors, quietly.

The armed guards were volunteers from Fort Bartholemew. Justin recognized that they were not regular army, since his own late father was an officer. Yet, they were wearing uniforms of some sort.

One thing that caught Justin's eye was the fact that there were so many Lakota working in the mines, right alongside the vagrants, such as himself and Thaddeus. "Sioux," he said to himself. 

"Yeah, I never seen so many Indians with whites and not tryin' to collect their hair," said Thaddeus. Justin just looked at him. Thaddeus said, "Sorry, friend. I forgot." He was referring of course, to the fact that Justin was a half-caste Sioux. Justin put it aside.

"I recognize some of 'em, from Spotted Tail's band."

"Out of Fort Laramie?" Thaddeus responded while still digging.

"Hey, shut up down there!" Came another yell from an armed guard, this time pointing his rifle at them.

The two of them continued to work quietly, reducing their conversation to a whisper "'Laramie Loafers', they call 'em. I don't think they'll be missed too much," said Thaddeus.

"Think so, huh?" Responded Justin. "More intrusions into Sioux lands and now they're kidnapping our people to dig for silver." 

"What do you mean, 'they?' You're still half-white," said Thaddeus. 

"Yeah. I get reminded of that, everyday," said Justin.

"Must be hard for you and Samantha, bein' in the middle all the time," said Thaddeus. Justin didn't respond. "Anyway, them birds with their rifles on us ain't regular army. Some kind of volunteer militia or somethin'," continued Thaddeus.

"It won't matter. All the warriors need to know is that it's whites that's taking their relatives and this whole territory will erupt. Plus the fact that most of the regulars are back East, fighting the Confederates," said Justin. 

"Got to figure out some way to get out of here, get word to Sheriff Trevors-." 

"Yep," Thaddeus cut in. "That's a lawman for ya. Ain't never around when you want 'em."   The leader of the guards, a sergeant, came forward, annoyed. 

He shoved Justin. "I thought I told you two sons a bitches to shut up!" 

Justin turned and faced him quietly. The sergeant looked him in the eye. "You look a little red to me, son. That what you are? Lousy breed-beggar? That why you don't savvy English too well chief?" 

Thaddeus came forward. "Look sir, he ain't no chief and it was all me. So, we're gonna go back to work, right quietly." The sergeant immediately shoved his rifle butt into Thaddeus, doubling him over. 

"What the hell-!" Shouted Justin as he went to Thaddeus, who was on his knees in pain. The sergeant pointed his rifle at the two of them. Justin held Thaddeus, who was gripping his midsection and gasping for air.

"Now, now," said Thaddeus, "that there was mighty unfriendly." 

Thaddeus immediately pushed the rifle aside and delivered a left cross to the sergeant's jaw.   With his adrenaline now up, Justin joined in, as the other guards came forward. Using his shovel, he knocked two armed guards down who had come running in. The other workers looked on, not seizing upon the opportunity. 

The white workers were either frozen with fear or physically weak, having been over worked without proper rest or food. As for the Indian workers, they seemed to know that this wasn't the right time and they were more interested in observing the two men's willingness to fight.

Justin grabbed one guard by the neck with his right hand while delivering a left to his face. He then used his great strength to grab another guard by the collar and pick him up.   Lifting him over his head, Justin tossed the man to the ground.

Thaddeus used a little more finesse. Knocked to the floor to his knees, the sergeant tried to kick him. However, Thaddeus grabbed his leg. Then, putting his shoulder into the sergeant's midsection, he stood himself up, heaving the sergeant over his head and sending him crashing behind him into an ore cart on the tracks. However, more guards came and he took another rifle butt, this time to the face, knocking him down. The guards then stood over him with their guns drawn. He stayed on the ground, wisely raising his hands. 

Justin continued fighting, wrestling with a guard who had a pistol in his hand. He knocked the guard down with a left, but while on the ground, the guard, also a strong man, recovered quickly and fired, hitting Justin's thigh. Justin yelled out in pain. Then the other guards piled on Justin, shoving their guns and knives in front of him. He was in no condition to continue fighting as he gripped his leg in pain.

The sergeant was helped out of the cart by the others. Brushing himself off, he shouted out angrily, "Put 'em in the box!" The other guards grabbed the two men, Justin unable to stand because of his wound. He yelled out in pain and Thaddeus tried to help him.

However, the guards grabbed him forcefully and Thaddeus said, "He's been shot, God damn it! He needs a doctor!"

The guards ignored him. Instead, they simply escorted Thaddeus and Justin out of the mine, walking them over to the huge iron box, which was located near the latrines, just outside of the worker's quarters. Thaddeus decided to help Justin walk and the guards, realizing it was the best way to move him, allowed this, at gunpoint. The sergeant said, "Got a lot of fight in you two, eh? Lousy scum! We'll cure you of that quick!" He then looked to the box, calming himself down. "The walls of this thing here are pure iron. They get so hot in the afternoon sun. You can feel your skin boil and puss up white. By nightfall, you can feel your outsides start to peel off. But don't worry. By then, it starts to get cooler. A LOT cooler!" The other guards laughed. The sergeant continued. "You boys are right lucky.  You just earned yourselves a three day vacation . . . in THE BOX!"  He then turned to the guards and said, "Toss 'em in!" 

Thaddeus tried to struggle while protesting, "Now wait a minute! Hold on! He's hurt! He'll die if you put him in there-!" Thaddeus and Justin, who was weak from his wound, were both shoved in as the door was shut behind them and the locks set in place.

Another guard turned to the sergeant and said, "He's right, sergeant. Mr. Bowland had orders from the Major to get as much work from 'em as he can. He might not like losin' a strong buck like him." 

The sergeant smirked. "So one less Indian buck to work the mines. I think the ‘Major' can afford it." Leaving one-armed guard to keep watch on the box, the sergeant and the rest of the guards left Thaddeus and Justin locked in.