That night he dreamed of the war, riding pell-mell through the Ozark roads, striking at the enemy in hit-and-run raids. Sympathizers hiding them. Women with hardly enough food for their own children killing precious chickens to feed them. Their own men off in Mississippi or Tennessee fighting for the same cause. No victories, only small efforts to thwart their opposition’s efforts, shoot a few bushwhackers who took advantage of the helpless women to rob and steal.
One had been called Mike Robinson, a man taller than Ben. Robinson claimed he once broke a man’s neck with his bare hands. He and his gang of thieves raided a farm. There were only three women there, a Mrs. Slater and two teenage daughters—the girls’ father was off in the service of the Confederacy. Robinson took everything they had to eat, slapped around Mrs. Slater, then told his men to rape the girls. They rode off afterward, leaving the two girls senseless.
Ben’s company of soldiers, led by some local operatives, found Robinson and his men half-drunk in a cave on the White River. They hanged them from an oak tree, shot them in the heart, and severed Robinson’s head. His head in a gunnysack was delivered to the Union commander in Cassville, Missouri, with a note: Your rapist. Cherish his head. Rebs.
In a cold sweat, Ben woke up. The Colt in his hand, he sat there shivering and recalling Robinson’s violent cursing when his men had dragged him out of the cave. The echoes had come out of the cavern long after they even had the madman outside. Hanging was too good for the likes of him. He had a vision of those poor girls, mumbling, cringing, crying out of their minds. Hanging had been too good a fate for him.
Chapter 12
The Christmas Eve dance at the Stallings Schoolhouse brought out everyone in the countryside. It had been a dull winter day that failed to really warm up. High cirrus clouds filtered out the sun’s full heat, and Hap forecasted rain in two days. The steers acted settled enough in the country where they grazed them; he had left two boys to stay out there. Digger and Miguel had won the honors. Ben promised both of them extra time off for their sacrifice—Digger wanted to go to San Antonio before they started the drive north and see his mother; Miguel had some like plans, only Ben figured they were southward ones.
Ben took the buckboard he seldom drove over to pick Jenny up. Her boys all wanted to ride their own horses and had packed bedrolls to spend the night. Jenny needed to come home and milk her cow in the morning.
She wore her new dress made from the blue material and a nearly threadbare long gray coat that concerned Ben. How he could get her a new coat and not make her feel obligated, he wasn’t sure. If she wanted him, fine—but he didn’t want her to feel he’d bought her with gifts. Oh, well. Sharing the wagon seat, headed for the schoolhouse, with her on his arm . . . There couldn’t be too much wrong, anyway.
“How are the new cattle doing?” she asked.
“Doing fine. They didn’t lift their heads up from grazing the first seven days. They’ll put on lots of weight.”
“Aren’t you worried? I mean going off up that trail . . . road?”
“We aren’t the first. People been driving cattle up there since before the war. McCoy’s trail is west of all those troublemakers in Kansas that you’ve heard about.”
“But there’s Indians.”
“Indians just have to let us through. I’m not picking a fight with them, and I’ll even pay them something, but word is if I give them a few head of cattle that will be enough.”
He reined the horses down to a walk for the creek crossing. “Worst thing I can think of are the river crossings.”
“Oh, I never even—”
“Well, there’s plenty of rivers to cross, and getting Hap’s wagon over each one of them high and dry will be difficult. Steers can be cantankerous.” He flicked the reins to make the team trot.
“People will talk about us,” she said, not looking at him.
Ben nodded in the starlight that he heard her. “Talk all they want. When I get back from Kansas, we’ll have us a wedding and a honeymoon.”
“Where will we go on our honeymoon?”
“San Antonio? Austin?”
“Won’t that be expensive?”
“I figure I’ll be able to afford it by then.”
“You really expect to make lots of money on this drive, don’t you?”
“I’ve been planning on it, Jenny.”
“I hope you aren’t disappointed. I’d gladly be your wife if you weren’t ever rich.”
He looked at the stars peeking through the thin blanket of clouds. Somehow he had to make this trip a success or die trying. Her fingers tightened their grip on his arm; he looked down and smiled at her. Somehow, Jenny, the drive will work.
The day before New Year’s Eve, Ben rode into town. He spotted the deputy coming down the boardwalk in front of the saddlery, and the man signaled that he wanted to talk. Ben reined his horse over to stop before him.
“Coulter’s been talking about you, Ben,” Robert Kilmer said, taking off his felt hat and scratching his head.
“He needs me, he can find me.” Ben checked his gray and reined him to a standstill.
“Trouble is, there’s three now. His two brothers are with him.”
“He crazy?”
Kilmer shrugged. “Says you showed him up in front of folks. Hurt his honor.”
Ben squinted at the deputy. “He must be crazy. He was drunk as a hooter and got in my face. I just tossed him aside. Had better things to do than put up with a drunk.”
“To hear him talk, you pistol-whipped him.”
“Kilmer, the man’s gone off the deep end. I hit him over the head when he wouldn’t quit pestering me.”
“He may be crazy, but he also might try something. Be careful. I’ve seen feuds like this start over nothing and end up with lots of good people getting killed.”
“Hope he’s got a funeral suit,” Ben said, and booted the gray horse on toward the mercantile. His anger raged inside over the stupidity of the whole matter. He needed to order more supplies—at the end of the week they were going back to the border for the rest of the cattle.
Two hours later on his wide, circular ride, he stopped at Jenny’s front door. He dismounted heavily and she came to the doorway with flour all over her hands.
“You caught me, Ben,” she confessed, and smiled.
“How’s that?” he asked, looking around the place.
“I wasn’t expecting you so soon and about had an apple-raisin pie made.”
“My favorite kind,” he said, and swept off his hat. “I finished my business in town and rode out. Where’s the boys?”
“Fishing. They shucked all the corn I needed for cornmeal and I let them have some time to be boys.”
“Nice to do that,” he said, and went to the fireplace. He heated his hands and backed up to the hearth. The warmth of the burning oak felt good radiating out at his back.
“Sometimes I worry my boys never have time to be boys.”
“It’s a busy world to grow up in.”
“Too busy,” she said, looking up from her dough rolling.
Ben took a straight-backed chair and sat on it backward to watch her make her pies.
“I sure had fun at the dance,” she said.
He nodded. He guessed everyone in the country knew about them and their intentions after the dance. It didn’t bother him; in fact, he felt proud she’d accepted him. He could do a lot worse than marry her. There were times he wanted to go find a preacher and tie the knot—like this day, him sitting and watching her every move. It would be nice to have a woman of his own, especially her.
“Ben, I don’t want to sound forward. . . .”
He looked up at her. “Yes?”
“We’re both grown-ups, and I guess . . . well, we don’t have to be married to be a couple.”
He closed his eyes. “How would it look for me to come home to a wife who was with child?”
“It would be yours if it was so.”
“Oh, Jenny. “ He rose and went to th
e small window and looked outside at the brown leaves dancing in a whirlwind. “It ain’t what I want—I mean, I want you, but I don’t want to ruin it.” He wanted to say there was a chance that he might not even survive the drive. Then where would she be? They’d have lots of time together after the drive.
“The honeymoon?” she said, drying her hands.
“I’d like it to be perfect.”
“I’ll look forward to it, Ben.”
He took her in his arms, kissed her, and kicked his conscience for building that barrier to what he felt in his arms. Oh, cattle drive, fly by.
When he released her, she spun around and looked whimsically at the open ceiling. “San Antonio. I like the sound of that.”
He smiled. So did he.
Chapter 13
“You figure Martinez has those cattle for you?” Hap asked when they stopped for a break in midafternoon. Using the lee side of the wagon to escape the sand-stinging north wind howling around them, Ben and the crew ate Hap’s fried apple pies for their midday meal.
Dru Nelson had finally shown up two days before they left for Mexico. The ex-soldier looked like he’d been on a three-week toot—but Ben needed the help and took him on anyway. How much booze could he find on the drive? Probably not much; the man had faced the same problem during the war. But drunks could always find it somewhere. Besides, when he was sober, Nelson took up grumbling most of the time.
“I figure the cattle will be there; Martinez needs the money,” Ben answered Hap’s question.
“Reckon he’s still hooked up with Salano and his gang?”
“Miguel thinks Martinez owes that bandit money, and Salano is looking out for himself; besides, getting his money and the cattle back, he’d make two profits.” Ben finished his last bite of the pie.
“That makes sense. Want more? I’ve got plenty.” Hap held out the Dutch oven, which was over half-full of them.
Ben shook his head. “No telling. But I’m counting on greed. He wants to sell me cattle, so I figure he’ll have some there. They may not be what we need, but we may be forced to take them.”
“Dealing with them greasers on the border is always risky,” Dru Nelson said, helping himself to another pie.
Behind his salt-and-pepper beard, the man under the old blanket looked hard to Ben. Maybe he’d come on the drive because he’d worn out his welcome everywhere else. He’d due to watch. He hated that a loyal soldier had turned out that way, but he still had a cattle drive to organize and needed all hands to ever get the steers out of Texas and rolling north.
“How far you reckon them cattle we got at home will wander while we’re down here?” Mark asked.
Ben turned up his jumper collar against the biting wind. “They’ll likely stay up there in the hills. There’s still plenty of grass and it’s out of the wind. They shouldn’t scatter too far.”
“These new ones that hungry?”
“Mexicans ain’t much on worrying about feed. I reckon there isn’t much to eat where they bunch them. Being weak enough from starvation makes them easier to handle.”
Mark looked off toward the south. “It takes all kinds, don’t it?”
“Yes, and these are desperate times for many folks. Billy Jim, did you survive getting bucked off this morning?”
“That dang Willy Maker. He never got away, though.” Billy Jim gave a sharp nod to punctuate his words.
“No, your catch rope works,” Ben said, recalling how the lead rope the young cowboy kept tied to his belt saved the horse from running off. “Maybe you should trade him off for another?”
“Naw, I’ve got to learn how to ride them kind, too, to ever make a hand, Mr. Ben.”
Ben nodded. “Let’s saddle up, boys, and ride. Mexico’s a day away and the sunlight’s burning on these short days.”
A chill went up his spine when he swung into the saddle; it drew goose bumps on his arms under his heavy shirt and jumper. He was headed for the unknown, and his success or failure depended on an unreliable source—Martinez.
The dull early-morning gleam of the river rushing over the shoal reflected the winter’s weak sun. Ben, Chip, and Mark forded the river. Martinez must know they were there. They’d arrived in the late afternoon, set up camp, and posted guards. Miguel and Toledo had crossed over under the cover of night.
“They have a herd of smaller steers south of the village. Maybe five hundred,” Miguel said. The camp-fire’s light in the predawn reflected off his face. “Sa lano is not in town. We could not find out where he is, but they say he and some of his men rode out two days ago.”
Ben nodded. “Any word on plans to take us?”
“I talked to a drunk puta in the cantina,” Toledo said. “Her name was Duchess. She said that her boy-friend worked for Salano and they were gone to rob a stagecoach.”
Ben smiled. “I hope she’s right and they aren’t but a few days’ ride from here.”
“She was very drunk.” Toledo laughed. “I wanted to take her in back and ask her more, but she kept passing out.”
“Sure,” Chip said, clapping him on the shoulder. “We know what kind of questions you’d have asked her back there.”
Everyone laughed.
“You two boys did good. All of you keep a horse apiece saddled today; we may have to move in an instant. Can we take the herd if we need to and get them across?” Ben asked the pair.
“Oh, there are a few vaqueros with them.”
“They tough hombres?” Ben asked.
Miguel shook his head. “I think they are only boys. They work cheap.”
Hap came around with the coffeepot, filling cups. “You going to get Martinez out of bed?”
Ben nodded.
In the early-morning canted light, the three rode up the steep street into the village. Ben kept a wary eye out for any sign of trouble. The boys acted on edge, too. When they reached the cantina where Martinez roomed upstairs, Ben dismounted and handed Chip his reins.
“I’ll try not to be long.”
Hands on their gun butts, the boys nodded, looking around the narrow street, ready for anything.
Ben went up the staircase beside the building, reached the veranda, and knocked on the French door.
Who is it?” Martinez hissed.
“Ben McCollough. Get up. We’ve got business to handle.”
“Ah, Señor Ben, you are a week early.” The man stood in a nightshirt, barefooted before him, rubbing his eyes. “Oh, what time is it?”
“Daytime. How many big steers do you have?”
“I have some good ones. Not grande, but they are good ones.”
“How much are these runts?”
“Oh, I have to have three dollars apiece for them. They are hard to buy. Several gringos have been down here wanting cattle from me since I sold you your last ones.”
“We had a deal last fall.”
“Ah, but señor, it is a new year; I can’t help the market has gone up. These cattle are worth a hundred dollars a head in Kansas.”
Ben shook his head as the shorter man turned and started back into the room. “You are a damn long ways from there, and if they bring ten dollars, it won’t hardly cover the expenses.”
Martinez pointed at the ruffled front of his nightshirt. “I have expenses too.”
“When can I go look at these small cattle?”
“Oh, tomorrow.”
“What in the hell’s wrong with today?”
“Oh, I have business with Don Querties.” Martinez found a thin cigar butt in an ashtray and lit it with shaky hands.
“No! You’ve got business with me.” If Salano was out of town, they needed to move before he came back.
“But my word—”
“Get dressed; we’re riding out there and looking at those steers.”
Martinez rubbed the backs of his arms. “Cold in here, isn’t it?”
“You’re going to be cold riding out there in that nightshirt. I’m going to have the boys go get your buggy. Where’s it at?”
“The stables.”
Ben walked across the room and onto the balcony. “Go get Martinez’s buggy at the stables. We’re going out to look at the cattle soon as he gets dressed.”
“Tina! Tina!” Martinez shouted. “Where are my clothes?”
A teenage girl came running and threw open the wooden wardrobe. From it she tossed onto the bed a shirt and pants. Then, hands on her hips, she glared at him. “What else you want?”
When he reached for her, she shunned his advance and headed for the door to the adjoining room. “What else you want?”
“Ah, my darling, I want your lovely body, of course.” He pulled the nightshirt off over his head, revealing that he wore no underwear.
She wrinkled her nose in disgust at him exposing himself to her and left the room.
“She loves me,” Martinez said, and pulled on his pants.
Ben doubted that, but held his comments to himself. He felt antsy to get out to the herd, look them over, and get the deal made. His biggest dread concerned the size of these animals. Miguel had already warned him this bunch wasn’t like those stout steers he had bought the first time.
Martinez stood in the buggy an hour later, extolling the virtues of the longhorn steers in the herd. Ben ignored him and pushed Roan through them. They were southern cattle, not much coat, and most were hardly more than two-year-olds—younger than he wanted to handle, but perhaps all he could get. There were other cattle dealers along the border, but the other drovers had already been there, or so Martinez said.
“Dollar a head.”
“Oh, no!” Martinez slapped his forehead and knocked off his flat-brimmed black hat. “You steal them from me. That wouldn’t buy a goat.”
‘I ain’t buying goats. I’m buying your runty steers.”
“Señor Ben, look at them.”
Ben drew up his horse and put both hands on the saddle horn. “I’ve looked at the damn things. I’m willing to pay a dollar a head.”
“No way.” Martinez dropped his head in defeat. “Ben, let us go find Tina and have us some huevos and frijoles and tequila. She’s nice, no? Oh, Ben, she is like velvet in the bed. I give her to you. Oh, Señor Ben, let us party a few days. Have us a grande time, no, mi amigo? You don’t like Tina, I get another nice one for you. You like them fat or with big ones?”
The Abilene Trail Page 10
