The Amarillo Trail

by Ralph Compton

  In the distance, Becker thought he saw a flicker of light. At first he thought his eyes were deceiving him and that it was only the golden wink of a firefly. Then he smelled cattle and the heady scent of dung. He strained his eyes to see through the darkness. The moon was behind a large cloud and the stars so far away they were merely silvery specks on a velvet tapestry, the Milky Way a blur of dim light that barely illuminated the grass with a patina of pale pewter.

  The smells grew stronger and stung his nose with the heady scent of cattle and horses. He rode on, his gaze fixed on the flickering pinpoint of orange light off to his right on the flat expanse of prairie.

  He stiffened in the saddle and began to flex his legs and arms. He blinked his eyes to clear his gauzy vision. He slapped at a mosquito with its zinging sound near his right ear and felt a sting in his cheek on the other side.

  He was awake, but just barely, and the light grew closer and larger. Then he heard the soft lowing of cattle and knew that he was not dreaming. The pungent aroma of cow pies was stronger in his nostrils and he realized he was riding through masses of fresh cattle and horse droppings.

  A few minutes later, Becker heard a low voice humming a vaguely familiar tune. It sounded to him like “Get Along Cindy,” but his mind was so addled he couldn’t be sure. Then he saw the dim shape of a man on horseback and, beyond, the white faces of cattle as they moved and grazed, their bodies dark and only the ghostly images of their heads visible to him.

  “You there,” Becker called, and realized his voice was a croak. “Do you see me?”

  “I see you,” the rider said.

  “What herd is this?” Becker asked.

  “Not that it’s any of your damned business, but it’s mostly the Rocking M.”

  “I’m Will Becker, riding for the Lazy J.”

  “Well, come on up, Becker. I’m Curly Bob Naylor from down Dumas way.”

  “Hey, Curly Bob. I’m mighty glad to see you. Is that your campfire yonder?”

  “Sure is. Miles is having a powwow with some of the hands. We’re at the bend where the Little Arkansas feeds into the Arkansas and we can’t cross.”

  “How come?” Becker asked.

  “Bunch of farmers are askin’ us to pay a toll. Two bits a head. It’ll be four bits by tomorrow. They got us outnumbered and outgunned.”

  “That’s a hell of a note. Mind if I ride on up to the campfire and grab some of that coffee? I know Miles Blaine slightly. Seen him a time or two with his pa and up at the Lazy J some time back.”

  “Sure. I’m just ridin’ nighthawk with another man on the other end. You’ll find a bunch yonder at the fire.”

  “I’m so damned tired, I hope I can make it that far.”

  “Good luck,” Curly Bob said, and continued his slow ride around the herd, the tune back to humming on his lips.

  Becker rode to the campfire, Jock staggering and zigzagging as they rounded the bedded-down herd. He dropped off his horse and started to crumple when Al Corning grabbed him.

  “Where did you come from?” Tad said as Al set Becker down on a clump of grass near the fire.

  “I know where he came from,” Miles said. “He rides for my brother, Jared. Will Becker, ain’t it?”

  Will nodded desultorily.

  “You want some coffee?” Al asked.

  “Yeah, that might help,” Becker said. “Hello, Tad. Long time no see.”

  “Heard you was in Leavenworth,” Tad said. “Your sister?”

  “Yeah, I got back a while ago. My sister’s doin’ okay, I reckon.”

  Miles passed a cup of coffee to Becker. “How come you’re not with Jared?” he asked.

  Becker blew on his steaming coffee and took a sip. The liquid burned his tongue. “Jared sent me on ahead to scout you out,” Becker said.

  “How far back is he?” Miles asked.

  “He’s runnin’ the herd day and night. I’d say less’n twenty miles by mornin’. Maybe catch up to you by tomorrow evenin’.”

  “Well, that might help solve our problem,” Tad said.

  Miles shot Tad a look of incredulity. “Jared wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire,” Miles said.

  “Well, he can’t cross the river neither without payin’ the toll to that Pete Boggs,” Tad said.

  “Pete Boggs?” Becker said.

  “That’s the name of the man who’s leadin’ all them sodbusters at the crossing,” Tad said. “A stubborn, mule-headed son of a bitch.”

  “Yeah, I know the man,” Becker said. “He rode with Quantrill durin’ the war. He’s a dangerous bastard. I run into him a time or two, most recently when I was headin’ back from Leavenworth. He’s got a thirst for blood.”

  “And money,” Miles said.

  “Yeah, that too,” Becker said as he raised the cup to his lips once again.

  “We were just deciding what to do in the morning,” Miles said. “I think we ought to drive the herd way around Boggs and find another crossing.”

  “I think we’d have Boggs right on top of us like ugly on a ape,” Tad said.

  “You likely would, Tad,” Becker said. “He’s been takin’ tolls from every Texan who drives a herd into Kansas. And he’s got some renegade Kiowa on his side if he needs ’em.”

  “What?” Miles said. “Injuns?”

  “Yep, Injuns. Kiowa that don’t recognize treaties. Savages that still take white scalps and hang’em in their lodges.”

  “I ain’t seen nary an Injun,” Al said.

  “All Boggs has to do is send up a smoke signal,” Becker said, “and them Kiowa will be down on you like a herd of wild buffalo.”

  The men around the fire sat silent for several moments as Becker continued to sip his coffee. Miles noticed that his eyes were droopy, and that his horse had lain down and closed its own eyes.

  Finally, Tad spoke up. He took a puff off his cigarette and blew a perfect ring that floated over the fire like a ghostly doughnut. He watched it fall apart in the faint breeze wafting off the river.

  “I got an idea,” he said. “Might work.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Miles said, without much enthusiasm.

  “You ain’t gonna like it, more’n I do,” Tad said. “But it’s the onliest way we’re goin’ to ford that river without paying blood money to Boggs.”

  The men all looked at Tad. Miles nodded for him to go ahead and divulge his idea.

  “Let’s say we get the herd up and movin’ before it’s light out,” Tad said. “We run ’em up to the river all in a bunch, wide as we can get ’em, then push ’em into the fordin’ place and fire off our guns all at once. One of us could take a long rifle and pick out Boggs and put his damned lamp out. My bet is the rest of them sodbusters would panic and run off like a bunch of scared rabbits. What do you think, Miles?”

  Miles shook his head. He picked up a stick of kindling and began to draw lines in the dirt between his boots.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “If it’s plumb dark, how would you pick out Boggs from the rest of them farmers? And what if the others don’t run, but start shootin’ our cattle while they’re swimmin’ in the water?”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “They won’t run,” Becker said. “None of ’em. They all fought with Quantrill’s Raiders and they’re all as bloodthirsty as Boggs.”

  “You know ’em?” Al asked.

  Becker looked sheepish and hung his head. “I rode with Quantrill myself. I was born in Topeka.”

  “Shit fire,” Al said.

  “And save the matches,” Pedro Coronado cracked. He had been silent the entire time, but now he was animated and wore a big grin on his face.

  “Them boys won’t only shoot the cattle like ducks in a rain barrel,” Becker said, “but they’ll shoot you too. And they’re all crack shots. With either rifle or pistol. When I was with ’em, we had cap n’ ball and them boys never missed when we was raidin’ over in Missouri.”

  “It’s a good idea, Tad,” Miles said. “But I can
’t risk all our lives and we’d probably lose a lot of the herd.”

  “It’s the only way I can see us crossing that river without payin’ a toll,” Tad said.

  “If you had a big enough herd now,” Coronado piped in. “And a few more men.”

  “Eh?” Miles said as he swung his gaze onto Pedro. “What are you getting at?”

  “Becker said that your brother, Jared, might get here sometime this day or by sunset. Then we would have a bigger herd and more men to fight the farmers.”

  “He’s got a point,” Tad said.

  “A good point, maybe,” Miles agreed.

  He stopped his scratches with the stick of kindling and gazed into the fire.

  What would Jared say to such a plan? Would he even consider siding with him to fight off Boggs and his men? Jared had never forgiven him for marrying Caroline and now there was no telling what he would say when he heard the bad news. He would probably blame him for Caroline’s tragedy since it had been one of his hands who had beaten her half to death. Moreover, he had taken Earl Rawson away from Jared in the first place.

  It was not a good situation, he knew. But he also knew that they had to cross the river and get both herds to Salina sometime before June first, and the month of May was slipping away like quicksilver on a hot skillet.

  He watched as the cup fell from Becker’s hand. He toppled over and hit the ground, fast asleep.

  It was curious, Miles thought, how fate had stepped in, not only with Leeds catching up to him with the bad news about Caroline, and Becker with the news that Jared was hot on his heels, but with all those armed men waiting across the river. Not only was fate a part of his life now, but what he did that day and the next might well decide his destiny.

  Chapter 27

  Jared set the pace as his herd forged forward. He and Paco also set the course, allowing the cattle to swing wide of the river so that it was no longer traveling over chewed and trampled grasses, but wading through belly-high fodder that was as fresh as the Kansas air itself.

  “At least we know we’re on the right track,” Jared said to Paco.

  “Pretty big herd passed this way, Jared. Bigger than ours.”

  “Which means Miles stands to make more money than me.”

  Paco said nothing. He knew that Miles and Jared were at odds with each other. Over a woman. He had met Caroline once and had developed an instant dislike of her. There was something in the way she looked at him when they met that made him think she would be an unfaithful wife. He had been relieved when she married Miles instead of Jared, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He dreaded to think that Caroline would be on the Lazy J. She was trouble and everybody but Jared could see it.

  The herd trotted after them, snatching tufts of grass when they could, always trying to veer toward the river. But the hands kept them on the straight and narrow, yelling at the slow ones, waving their hats at the ones who wanted to bolt or stray. It was a brutal pace, but they were eating up the miles.

  Paco stayed behind Jared with an eye on the leaders, ready to turn them back if they turned toward the river. A flanker on the right had little to do but urge the cattle on as if he were running them into a chute at the stockyards.

  Toward evening, the herd veered closer to the river, and Paco sensed a change in the air. He could hear the mallards and pintails chuckling in the river and he saw flights of ducks heading for the distant cornfields to feed. Doves whistled past every so often and hawks floated over the fields on the other side of the Arkansas.

  “Rider up ahead,” Jared called over his shoulder. “And I see cattle grazin’ all over the place.”

  “Must be the Rocking M,” Paco said.

  “They’re not movin’, that’s for sure.”

  Paco took off his hat and waved to the lone rider patrolling the tail end of the herd ahead of them. The rider waved back and rode out to meet them.

  “Howdy,” Jared said. “What outfit you with?”

  “I ride for the Rocking M,” Joadie Lee said. “Ain’t you Jared Blaine?”

  “Yeah, I am. You know where Miles is?”

  “Him and Tad Rankin are up at the river bend, I reckon. We been stuck here for two days.”

  “Stuck here?”

  “Yes, sir. They’s a bunch of dirt farmers won’t let us cross less’n we pay ’em a toll. Yesterday it was two bits and now they want four bits, the bastards.”

  Paco and Jared exchanged looks.

  “Paco, you hold the herd here,” Jared said. “I’ll ride up and see what’s going on.”

  “Ten cuidado, Jared,” Paco said in Spanish. “Be careful.”

  Paco turned around and stopped the herd from moving forward. He waved to one of the flankers.

  “Let the cattle go to water,” he yelled.

  Chet Loomis waved back and passed the word along to the other drovers. The cattle began to walk toward the riverbank and Paco let out a long breath. Ducks fluttered up from the water as the cows intruded on them and began to drink. Mallards, teal, redheads, and canvasbacks rose and flew off to the west where there were corn and wheat fields stretching to the horizon.

  “Uh-oh,” Tad said when he saw the lone rider trotting up to them. “I’d recognize the creamcolored gelding anywheres.”

  Miles turned around and saw his brother. “Yep, that’s Jared and Puddin’,” he said.

  “This should be interesting,” Tad said.

  “You hold your tongue, Rankin,” Miles snapped, and Tad realized right off that the meeting between the two brothers was liable not to go well.

  “Who’s that?” asked Boggs, who had been talking to Tad and Miles.

  “That’s my brother,” Miles said.

  “Well, well, well,” Boggs said. He rubbed his palms together and flashed a gleeful smile. “More Texas cattle, I reckon.”

  “Look, Mr. Boggs,” Miles said, “I asked you real polite if you’d let us pay ten cents a head on credit. Let us cross and we’ll pay you when we come back this same way.”

  “No deal, Blaine. It’s four bits a head, and if you wait another day, it’ll cost you six bits a head.”

  “That’s robbery,” Miles said.

  “I own the river, Mr. Blaine. Any outfit that crosses has got to pay for the privilege. No exceptions.”

  Jared rode up and dismounted. “Miles,” he said, then looked at Tad. “Tad Rankin. So Pa sent you to nursemaid my brother.”

  “There’s no need to be sarcastic, Jared,” Miles said. “But I want you to meet Mr. Peter Boggs here. He says he owns the river and he’s trying to extort money from me I don’t have.”

  “Mr. Blaine,” Boggs said, extending his scarred and wrinkled hand, a hand burned by the sun and cracked from too many early-morning milkings.

  Jared looked down at Boggs and didn’t offer his hand.

  “You don’t own this or any other river, far as I’m concerned,” Jared said. “And we won’t pay you one damned cent to cross it.”

  “Take a look across the river, Blaine,” Boggs said, the false smile gone from his face. “You see those men. They say you pay me two bits a head for every cow in your herd that crosses this bend.”

  “Is that a threat?” Jared asked.

  “You can call it a promise. Them boys are itchin’ to crack them rifles and they’ll drop men as well as cows if you try and run your herd acrost without payin’.”

  Jared turned to Miles. “What did you tell Boggs here?”

  Miles told him of his most recent offer.

  “Ten cents a head on credit,” he said.

  “I ain’t payin’ this sodbuster one red cent,” Jared said.

  He stepped up to Boggs and bent his head so that his face was only inches away.

  “You get on back across, Boggs. We’ll rest the herd tonight and come mornin’ we’re crossing this river. Far as I’m concerned, it’s still a free country, even here in Kansas.”

  “You got it right, Blaine,” Boggs retorted. “It’s a free country, except right her
e at this bend in the river. If you bring your herd across now, it’s two bits a head. You wait until morning it’s fifty cents.”

  “Get your ass out of here, Blaine, before I break your chiselin’ neck.”

  Jared’s hand dropped to the butt of his pistol, and the move was not lost on Pete Boggs. He backed away, throwing his hands up in the air in mock surrender.

  “You’re sure as hell gonna have blood on your hands if you stick one damned cow in that river without payin’,” Boggs said as he walked back down to the ferry raft where some of his men were waiting, out of earshot.

  “Well, Jared,” Miles said, “I guess you told him.”

  “He might as well pull his bandanna up over his ugly face,” Jared said. “He’s a damned bandit.”

  He turned around and saw Will Becker standing next to him. He had walked up without Jared hearing him.

  “Howdy, boss,” Becker said. “You made good time with the herd.”

  “And you didn’t come back and report that Miles was stuck here.”

  “He was plumb tuckered last night,” Tad said. “Fell asleep while drinkin’ his coffee.”

  “Well, you ain’t ridin’ for the Rockin’ M, Will.”

  “Nope, but I heard what you said to Pete Boggs. Put a little scare in me, to tell you the truth.”

  “You scared of Boggs?”

  “It ain’t just him, Jared. Look at those men over on the other side of the river. I knowed ’em all, rode with them in the war. Course we was all just kids then, but they were a bloodthirsty bunch. I seen ’em kill women and children without battin’ an eye, murdered them with cap n’ ball .44s just like they was shootin’ rats in a henhouse.”

  Jared looked across the river. He looked at each man.

  “Well, they ain’t kids no more,” he said.

  “Jared, Will here says they can call in renegade Kiowas to fight with ’em.”

  “That so?” Jared looked at Will again.

  Will nodded.

  “Then we better get ready for war,” he said, “ ‘cause I’m crossin’ that blamed river in the morning.”

  Jared looked at Miles. His gaze was steady and Miles knew he wanted him to agree with him.