The Western Adventures of Cade McCall Box Set

by Robert Vaughan

  “We don’t have to put up with this. You can’t fire us, ‘cause we quit. Come on Toombs, let’s get out of here,” Kilgore said.

  Fifteen minutes later, with the two men a couple of miles south of the herd, Kilgore laughed out loud.

  “A hunnert ‘n twenty-five dollars apiece from the fifty head we stoled, ‘n another ten from Frazier, I say we go back to Elgin ‘n spend some real time at the Happy Cowboy.”

  Cade and the others were halfway through The Indian Territory and enjoying a supper of pinto beans and salt pork when the serenity of the quiet evening was broken by a loud, blood-curdling yell.

  “Indians!” Ian Campbell shouted.

  Boo Rollins grabbed the coffee pot and emptied its contents on the fire, extinguishing the flames. Cade, Jeter, and Rollins moved quickly to the chuck wagon, which was the closest place that offered any cover. “You two, inside the wagon!” Cade ordered Arabella and Maggie. “Get down between the flour and beans and keep out of sight.”

  The other drovers grabbed their guns and took what cover they could find, behind slight rises, or dips in the ground.

  Because of the Indian shouts, it was virtuously impossible to know how many of them there were. Guns roared and dozens of muzzle flashes lit up the night. A bullet hit the iron rim of the chuck wagon, and a piece of it was shaved off. It carved a thin line in Cade’s cheek, painful enough to get his attention, but he knew, at once, that it wasn’t a serious wound.

  One mounted Indian galloped toward them, leaning down low over the head of his horse. He was holding a rifle in one hand, apparently trying to get close enough to use it effectively. The Indian came close enough to be in pistol range, and Cade stepped out from around the corner of the wagon and shot him. The Indian fell from his horse. Cade shot two more times, and two more Indians fell.

  A flaming arrow came arcing through the sky, then buried itself into the side of the chuck wagon. Cade ran around to the other side of the wagon and snatched the arrow down before the chuck wagon caught on fire, then he turned and shot the Indian who had launched the arrow.

  “Mr. McCall, they’re taking the horses!” Timmy Ponder yelled. Because the youth was the wrangler, he took a proprietary interest in all the mounts. And he started running toward the horses.

  “No!” Jeter yelled. “Stay down, boy!”

  One of the mounted Indians came galloping toward Ponder, leaning down with his war club raised. Just before the Indian was close enough to strike, Ponder raised his pistol and fired. The Indian went down.

  There were actually two Indians who had approached the horses, and Cade, who had been using a pistol, set it aside and picked up his rifle. Jacking a shell into the chamber, he raised it to his shoulder, aimed at the second of the two Indians who had been trying to take the horses, and fired. The Indian tumbled from his horse.

  The remaining Indians, realizing that the possibility of getting the horses was slim, turned and galloped away. The night, which but a moment before had been filled with gunfire, grew silent again.

  “Cade, we’d better get some men out around the beeves,” Boo Rollins said. “Tell the truth, I don’t know why all this shootin’ didn’t get ‘em with their tails in a roll before this.”

  “I’ve been thinking that myself,” Cade replied. “Pick out a couple of the men and move on out. I’ll check on the girls and then I’ll make a turn, too.”

  The cattle, though made uneasy by the gunfire, had not stampeded. They were near water, and on good grass, so they seemed to be content.

  After posting the nighthawks, Cade and the extra men returned to the wagon, where they were surprised to find that Arabella and Maggie had made coffee.

  “This better not be Injun coffee,” Jeter said as he squatted down on his haunches to pour a cup. Often when Indians came into a camp begging for food, a cook would pour hot water over the old grounds and serve it to them.

  “Oh no,” Maggie said flashing a smile at Jeter. “We made it fresh, and guess what else we made.”

  “I don’t know, but I know it’ll be good.”

  Maggie took out a bowl of small round balls of sourdough that had been fried in lard and then dipped in cinnamon and sugar. “These are for you.”

  “Hey!” Boo said slapping Jeter with his hat. “What about the rest of us?”

  “Mr. Rollins, I didn’t mean they were all for Jeter. I was just offering him the first one.”

  “Uh huh,” Boo said nodding his head. “We know what’s goin’ on.”

  “I think Timmy should get an extra pastry for going after the Indians as bravely as he did. He was protecting the horses,” Arabella said.

  “How could you see that? I thought I told you to keep your head down,” Cade scolded.

  “I just raised one eye,” Arabella replied with a smile.

  “What do you mean brave? He was foolish, if you ask me, I think the boy should be givin’ a whippin’ for doin’ somethin’ so reckless that he could ‘a got hisself kilt,” Art Finley said.

  “Well now, Mr. Finley, would you want to be tryin’ that yourself?” Ponder asked. Though considerably younger, Timmy Ponder was every bit as large as Finley.

  Boo Rollins laughed out loud. “What do you think about that, fellas? Timmy’s done got hisself so full of piss ‘n vinegar charging after them Indians, that now he’s ready to take on the world.”

  “Here, Tim, have another one of these things,” Cade said, as, with a smile, he tossed another pastry toward him.

  “Yeah,” Timmy said. “I’d rather eat one of these than fight, anyway.”

  Finley picked up the coffee pot and refilled the cups. “You’re all right, boy,” he said giving Timmy’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’d ride to the river with you any day.”

  The next day, the Cherokee Chief William Ross met Cade to collect the fee that the US government sanctioned when cattle crossed the Nations. Cade told him about the attempted raid on the horses the night before and the chief, for an additional fee offered to provide half a dozen Indian police to ride along with Cade’s herd all the way to the Kansas border. As a result of the protection furnished by the Cherokee Police, there were no further incidents while they were in The Nations.

  Kanuna, the chief of the accompanying police, rode up to Cade just before they crossed into Kansas.

  “We leave you now,” he said. “We have no authority in Kansas.”

  “Thank you for your protection, Kanuna. We are most grateful.”

  Kanuna lifted his arm with palm out, nodded, then called to his men and exchanging the same greeting with the cowboys, they rode away.

  “I’m glad they were with us,” Arabella said.

  “And it only cost an extra hundred dollars,” Cade said with a little chuckle.

  “Oh, I forgot about that. Cade, when will we reach another town?”

  “We’re about five days from Wichita.”

  Arabella wrinkled her nose. “Will it be that long?”

  “Yes, unless we run into trouble, and then it will take longer,” Cade said. “If you really need something, I think some men from Wichita have built a little trading post about a half-day from here . . . but you’ll find about all they have are whiskey and tobacco. Is that what you’re after?”

  “You know better than that, Cade McCall,” Arabella said.

  “All right, I’ll make you a deal. Do you have any dried peaches?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then make us some fried peach pies and when we get to Wichita, you and Maggie will be the first ones into town.”

  Amon Kilgore and Fred Toombs had been in Elgin for the better part of three weeks. At first they were staying at the Happy Cowboy, but Suzie thought their continued presence was bad for business, so they took a room over the Trail’s End Saloon. They slept till past noon every day, getting down to the faro table as soon as the dealer was opened for business.

  “How much money we got left?” Toombs asked as they stepped out onto the stairway that led down to the st
reet.

  “Our stash is goin’ down, but I feel it in my bones. Today we’re gonna not only buck the tiger, we’re gonna hog tie ‘im,” Kilgore said.

  “Do you think maybe we ought to get into a poker game? I got good eyes. I can look over somebody’s shoulder and let you know what he’s got.”

  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Kilgore said. “You want to get us both killed?”

  “Well, we’ve got to get some money somewhere, ‘n I don’t see any stage coaches to rob,” Toombs said.

  “Leave it to me. I’ll come up with something.”

  When the two stepped inside the Trail’s End, they stood for just a second to allow their eyes to adjust. Lanterns hanging from overhead wagon wheels emitted enough light to read by, though drifting clouds of tobacco smoke diffused the golden light.

  “I’ll be damn,” Kilgore said. “I didn’t expect to see him here.”

  “Who you talkin’ about?”

  “See that man standin’ at the other end of the bar. His name’s Sid Gorman, ‘n me ‘n him did some business a while back. This could get real interestin’.”

  With Kilgore in the lead, the two men went down to stand near Gorman.

  “Who’s this you got with you?” Gorman asked.

  “The name is Toombs. Fred Toombs,” Toombs replied. Smiling, he stuck out his hand but Gorman ignored it, instead lifting his glass to his mouth.

  “I’m not in the cow business anymore,” Gorman said. “So if you got some to sell, you’re goin’ to have to go someplace else.”

  “I ain’t in the cow business no more neither,” Kilgore replied. “That big hurricane down on the coast kilt a lot o’ cows. So many cows drowned that most o’ the cattlemen wound up puttin’ what few cows they had left all together to make a herd large enough to be worth movin’ ‘em up here. I tried to get the job bringin’ the herd up, but old man Dennis didn’t exactly give me what you would call a sterlin’ recommendation.”

  For the first time, Gorman showed some emotion as he threw back his head and laughed. “And after all the cows you stole from him. Now ain’t he an ungrateful son-of-a-bitch. But if you’re not in the cow business, what in the hell are you doing in this hell hole?”

  Kilgore didn’t want to tell Gorman that he and Toombs had come up as mere drovers; it would have embarrassed him.

  “Uh, Fred, here, has a sister lives nearby, ‘n we come up to see her. You said you ain’t in the cow business no more either. What kind of business brings you to Elgin?”

  “Buffin’,” Gorman replied.

  “You? You’re huntin’ buffalo?”

  “No, not me. Let some other slugs sleep under the stars for six to nine months to a year, not seein’ another human being except some buck comin’ for his hides and then his scalp.”

  “If you’re not huntin’ ‘em, then what are you doing?” Kilgore asked.

  “Makin’ money. Some guy up north sent a load of dried up old hides to his brother in New York City, and what did that brother do, but tan the things and make ‘em into leather belts? Now everybody wants more hides,” Gorman said.

  “Belts? Who needs that many belts?” Toombs asked. “Hell, most folks I know holds their pants up with galluses.”

  “Not that kind of belts,” Gorman replied. “Belts for machinery. Back east there are more factories than you can count, and every one of them has a machine in it that needs a strong belt to turn the wheel to make the power. Turns out that buffalo hide makes real good leather for that. Yes sir, there’s money to be made, and I intend to supply as many hides as I can buy from the suckers who’ll sell ‘em to me.”

  “Just how much money are you talkin’ about?”

  “Lots. A good shooter and a skinner could easily get a hundred hides a day, and right now that many would bring more than a hundred dollars a day.”

  “You’re kiddin’ me,” Kilgore said.

  “I’m not. You know the tale they tell about Bill Cody. They say he killed more than 4,000 buffs in eighteen months when he was working for the railroad and they were only taking the humps and the tongues. Maybe a haunch now and then when they felt like they wanted more meat. But they never took the hides, cause nobody knew what to do with them, except make a robe. But that’s all changed now. The race is on to get as many hides as a man can get.”

  “This is very interesting,” Kilgore said. “I might just find a way to do business with you again someday. Where you headin’?”

  “I’m heading back to Texas, over toward the Panhandle. Everybody’s huntin’ in Kansas and Nebraska, but I figure the real getting’ is going to be in the Territory and North Texas.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  Gorman smiled. “Supply and demand, my friend. They’re killin’ buffalo like flies, but the government don’t want white men killin’ in the Territory, so that’s where I plan to be.”

  20

  Wichita, Kansas:

  Where we gonna bed down?” Jeter asked as he caught up with Cade.

  “I think we’ll hold them a little north of Cowskin Creek,” Cade replied. “The other day when we met Charley Singleton he told me the good folks of Wichita have put in a night herd law, but Cowskin Creek is exempt.”

  “Charley Singleton—he’s the guy from the Circle Dot that was taken’ their horses home?”

  “That’s him,” Cade said.

  “What’s this night herd law?”

  “It’s Wichita’s way of kowtowing to the farmers. They say they don’t want cows running at large after dark—says it ruins their crops.”

  Jeter smiled. “Well, don’t they?”

  “I’d say they do, but if we have to pay to put 2,000 cows in pens, we’ll find another route. Who needs Wichita anyway?”

  “Cade McCall,” Arabella said as she joined the two men. “You promised if Maggie and I made fried pies, we could go into Wichita.”

  “I did and you can. As far as finding a new route is concerned, we’re talking about next year. It’s too late to change now,” Cade said. “Just for you we’ll hold the herd here for an extra day.”

  “Good. That’ll give the La Parra outfit time to get out of our way,” Arabella said.

  “The La Parra outfit. Listen to this girl,” Jeter said. “You’d think she’d been born to the brand.”

  “You haven’t mentioned the La Parra before,” Cade said. “Have they been causing you trouble?”

  “Not really. It’s just that when Maggie and I are setting up the chuck, a lot of their cowboys seem to be out looking for strays. They’re always coming in to camp asking for something we’re cooking.”

  “Well I can’t fault them for that. I’d take your cookin’, or at least Maggie’s, over any cookie on the range,” Jeter said.

  “If we don’t get into Wichita for more supplies, it’s going to be beans all the way to Abilene,” Arabella said.

  “Trying to bribe us, are you, Arabella?” Cade teased.

  “Maybe,” Arabella replied, with a wide, flirtatious smile.

  The next morning, Cade and the two women left for Wichita. The town had a population of around three hundred, with an equal number of farmers in the outlying area. Because of this there was a good business district, and the recent attempt to corral the cowboy’s carousing meant the saloons were respectable as well.

  “This looks like the best place to get your groceries,” Cade said as he stopped in front of Dagner’s store.

  “Who says we’re after groceries,” Maggie said as she jumped down from the chuck wagon.

  “That better be what you want,” Cade said. “Arabella says we’ll be eating beans all the way to Abilene if we don’t get a fresh supply.”

  “And that’s true,” Arabella said, “but any woman wants to go shopping.”

  “All right. You girls have a good time,” Cade said as he lifted Arabella to the ground. “I’m going to go check in with the marshal and make sure Singleton was right about this night herd law.”
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br />   Two men were standing in front of the Vidette office, having just picked up a newspaper.

  “Did you see that?” Kilgore asked.

  “Yeah,” Toombs said. “That fella lifted the cookie out of the chuck wagon. That’s strange.”

  “Ain’t it though, but did you recognize that man?”

  “Hell no. Am I supposed to know him?”

  “I’d say. He cost us about five hundred head of cattle and killed four of our men.”

  “Cade McCall! So, that’s what the son of a bitch looks like?”

  “What do you say we go see what we can find in Dagner’s place? There’s somethin’ odd about them two cooks, ‘n I’d like to get a better look at em,” Kilgore said.

  When Arabella and Maggie came out of the store, they were both wearing new wide-brimmed straw hats that were tied on with ribbons.

  “Just look what we have here,” Cade said when he saw them. “Is this what you’d planned to buy all along?”

  “No it’s not, but they were so pretty, we just had to have them,” Maggie said.

  “They wouldn’t look as good on any other women,” a man standing beside Cade said.

  “Oh, I forgot to introduce you, Marshal. This is my wife, Arabella Dupree and her friend, Magnolia Trudeau.”

  “It’s McCall, Arabella McCall. My husband doesn’t call my name that often.”

  The marshal laughed. “I know what you mean. Most people I know call me Marshal Walker, and it’s just as well they don’t know my first name.”

  “What is it? I’d like to know,” Maggie said.

  The marshal looked down. “It’s Ina.”

  Maggie nodded her head. “I’ll call you Marshal.”

  “I hope you don’t have a reason to call him anything at all. After tomorrow we’ll be out of here,” Cade said to Arabella, then he turned to the marshal.

  “I trust none of my boys gave you any trouble last night.”

  “None. We don’t spend much time patrolling Elgin, and I expect that’s where your drovers wound up.”