Night Ride to Fort Sumner

A contract to feed a frontier post shouldn’t have ended at a river cave, but the Pecos has a way of bending plans. We head out with Oliver Loving and W.J. Wilson on a night-run mission to Fort Sumner that turns into a standoff against a swelling war party, where ground, grit, and a few feet of brush decide the line between life and legend. When a parley sign flickers on the plains and a hidden shot rips through Loving’s wrist and side, the story snaps from strategy to survival, and the cave on the bluff becomes a cramped theater where fear, fever, and resolve fight for the lead.

From there, the path forks. Wilson crawls into the night to fetch river water in his boots, then makes the hardest choice a partner can make: leave a wounded friend to swim for help. He slips down the Pecos past a mounted sentinel, abandons his rifle to the sandy current, and staggers barefoot across a country of thorns with a scavenged TP pole, waking to wolves every time sleep threatens. Starved and sunburned, he reaches the trail and flags down Charles Goodnight, who pieces together the fight from Wilson’s rough map and rides back to recover what the river didn’t take—including Loving’s Henry rifle.

Loving’s path is its own test of will. He crawls out after days, arm shattered, side wound mending, and survives on the last oils of roasted leather gloves before striking a deal with Mexican farmers to haul him to Fort Sumner. Army surgeons battle infection, a late amputation becomes the final gamble, and a quiet agreement is sealed between partners: debts will be paid, promises kept. When Loving dies that September, Goodnight carries the work for two years and brings his friend home 700 miles to Weatherford, Texas—closing a loop the plains tried to cut in half.

If you’re drawn to true frontier history, cattle trail lore, and the human code that held partnerships together when the land tore everything else apart, press play and ride with us. Subscribe, share this story with a friend who loves Western history, and leave a review to tell us which moment stayed with you.

Chapters

• 0:11 Mission to Fort Sumner
• 0:35 Daylight Risk and Route North
• 1:26 First Contact and River Bluff Stand
• 3:23 The Shot That Fells Loving
• 4:18 Fever, Panic, and Night Aid
• 5:14 Wilson’s Perilous Swim and Escape
• 7:18 Goodnight’s Rescue and Recovery
• 8:18 Loving’s Ordeal to Fort Sumner
• 9:22 Infection, Amputation, and Last Pact
• 10:13 Death, Return, and Legacy

Transcript

SPEAKER_01: 0:11

The following is W.J. Wilson's account of how he was asked to accompany Loving on the trip to Fort Sumner. When I returned from this cow hunt, Mr. Loving asked me to go to Fort Sumner, New Mexico with him. We had a verbal contract with the people who were feeding the Indians there, and we wanted to hold that contract. The distance to Fort Sumner was about 250 miles, and we were supposed to travel at night to lay up in the daytime, so the Indians would not attack us. The two travel by night for the first few days, but Loving, 55 years old, becomes unwavering by acknowledging business comes first, resolving to cover more ground and thwarting the potential dangers of horse riding during the day. The two lone cowboys preceded by daylight transit into New Mexico and come to the crossroads of the Black River, where it flows from the west to join the Pecos. They are, however, on the west side of the Pecos River. After relaxing and refreshing the horses and themselves on the Black River, they moved north to Fort Sumner. Late in the afternoon of the third day, a party of Indians is encountered to the west. They reined their horses to the east for the crude cover bastion of the river and down the steep bank of a bluff. While the band of Indians was charging, Wilson and Loving dismounted from their horses and extracted the guns and saddlebags. W.J. Wilson provides a narrative of the Indian encounter. As we neared this mountain, we discovered several Indians. They saw us about the same time and we knew we were in for trouble. But we reached the river all right, and I picked out a little mound next to the river where I could see all around me, except one little spot where the pole cat brush had grown about three feet high. And that brush obscured my view of the river for a distance of about 100 yards. I told Mr. Loving if he would stay down at that little clump of bushes and keep the Indians from crawling up on us from the river, I would keep them off from above. These Indians had increased their numbers until there was over a hundred of the red rascals. I think they had been hunting south of the river and were going back to their old ground. Instantly, at least four of their horses are seized by the Indians. Then, noticing they are outnumbered, they take shelter in a small cut bank cave of the bluff side just off the river's edge. Wilson quickly shoots one or two Indians. After a short volley of fire from their concealment, the two cowboys, while downing a few Indians, detect a lull in the skirmish. Loving and Wilson look out from the cave and glimpse the Western Plains parley sign. To Loving's relief of detecting some peace between the warring factions, he stands up and reveals himself. A shot rings out from the unnoticed Indian concealed from above the bluff. The bullet tears through Loving's left wrist, breaking the bone and blowing a large hole into his left side. The two duck back under cover to take refuge in their little fort, where they anticipate a frontal attack from the band of Indians before them. With Loving wounded, the Indians directly endeavor to wriggle through the grass with lances at hand. As they both withdraw deeper into the confines of the cove, Wilson upsets a rattlesnake and decides to retreat. Still, as fate would have it, the snake crawls toward Loving and Wilson and passes within several feet of them, both men remaining dormant. The snake eventually passes for the good of everyone, including the snake. Loving is fearful that the wound on his side is fatal, and in reality expands to a very high fever. The day progresses until the afternoon, and the first indications of panic arrive. Loving feels an affliction from his side wound. They both feel the yearning to run and escape. The panic grows stronger into the evening as Wilson's faculties give way to emotions. Wilson, from Loving's condition worsening, springs up with bravery and decides to leave the confines of their makeshift stronghold to treat Loving. In the dark of night, Wilson creeps to the river, filling his boots with water, and returns to cleanse Loving's face and bathe him. After much dispute, Loving persuades Wilson to try to escape during the second night, and if possible, make his way to the trail and intercept Goodnight. It takes considerable persuasion for Wilson to leave Loving, but the boss succeeds. Wilson removes most, if not all, of his clothes and tries to swim with the rifle. Wilson advances in floating down the river a considerable distance away from the scene of the danger from the Indians. It becomes challenging for him to swim with his good arm, and the remains of an arm earlier in life partially amputated. At one point, he decides that he must dispose of the rifle, and he positions its muzzle down into the bed of the Pecos River, with its butt slightly under the surface. In the book Trail Drivers of Texas, W.J. Wilson writes the following narrative of his swim down the river after leaving Loving. Leaving with him all my pistols and my rifle, I took his gun and with a hand clasp told him goodbye and started to the river. The river was quite sandy and difficult to swim in, so I had to pull off all my clothes except my hat, shirt, and breeches. The gun nearly drowned me, and I decided to get along without it. So I got out and leaned it up against the bank of the river under the water where the Indians would not find it. Then I went down the river about a hundred yards and saw an Indian sitting on his horse out of the river with the water almost over the horse's back. He was sitting there splashing the water with his foot, just playing. I got under some smart weeds and drifted by until I got far enough below the Indian where I could get out. Wilson's escape to safety is a miraculous story of the American West. On his escape trip, he finds a TP pole to aid in walking. William Hagen tells us in his book, entitled Charles Goodnight, that for three days, the barefoot Wilson was reminded that everything in that country has stickers on it. On the last night of this painful journey, wolves followed him. They would awaken him whenever he attempted to rest, snapping and snarling. When he reached the route the herd must follow, he found a sort of cave and waited until Good Knight and the cowboys came within hailing distance of the grotesque figure he presented. Starved, sunburned, and barefooted. It takes water and food to get Wilson far enough in recovery to make sense of his description of the fight and escape. But Good Knight is soon able to get the details in a location description. Wilson is laced in one of the wagons to speed his recovery, and Good Knight and several cowboys make their way to the fight scene. Following Wilson's portrayal of his getaway through the river, Good Knight can retrieve some of their clothes, his pocket knife, and Loving's Henry rifle. Meanwhile, Loving's fever had subsided, and it appears that the wound in his side is not as mortal as he initially thought. And he makes his way to the river during the cover of darkness of the fourth night. He later remarks that possibly the Indians had departed the scene, having become impatient as they were known to be, or have thought they had killed both occupants of the little cave fort. For several days he travels, leaving his forearm broken and nothing to eat, but he successfully assembles a fire late one afternoon, roasts his leather gloves, and chews them for the remaining juices. He makes it an acceptable distance to cross a trail, encounters a group of Mexican farmers, and agrees to pay them several hundred dollars if they transport him to Fort Sumner. He arrives and the army immediately begins healing his wounds. The older chief surgeon of the army is away on medical business in Las Vegas, and the youngest post surgeon manages Mr. Loving's wounds as best as he can. The wound on his side is mending, but the bullet wound in his broken left forearm has begun to cause blood poisoning. The broken bones are set, but Loving's infection continues to worsen. Several days later, Mr. Goodnight and several cowboys arrive ahead of the herd. Compelling, solid assertions are made to the young surgeon to attempt amputation to save Loving's life. Finally persuaded, he performs the amputation. With this condition failing, Loving acknowledges he is dying and Goodnight knows it. The two men strike an oral understanding for the partnership to be continued after his death until all obligations can be paid in full. And Good Knight keeps this agreement for the following two years. On September 25th, 1867, Oliver Loving passed. In February of 1868, Loving's body was exhumed from a Fort Sumner grave and transported the 700 miles back to Weatherford, Texas for conclusive burial.