The Green River Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “I won’t,” said Mary. “The poor girl’s frightened enough.”

  Lonnie and the outfit moved their gather to yet another stream on Becky’s spread, and there was enough graze for maybe two days.

  “Elliot,” said Lonnie, “here’s the two hundred dollars we owe your pa for those mules. See if he knows of anybody who might sell us another one. We’ll pay more, if we must.”

  Elliot Graves nodded, mounted his horse, and rode out.

  “Now,” Lonnie said, “it’s time for some of us to lay down some money for cows. We need to increase our herd by two thousand. I think Dallas and me can handle that, unless some of the rest of you would like to be in on it. Some of us will have to remain here with our gather.”

  “I’ll stay with the herd,” said Dirk McNelly. “The only offer to sell cows that I got, it came from old man Tilden, April’s pa, and I’d as soon not have any dealings with him, if we can buy our cattle elsewhere.”

  “I’ll stay with the herd, too,” Kirby Lowe said.

  “Bueno,” said Lonnie. He then turned to Sandy Orr, Benjamin Raines, and Justin Irwin.

  The trio shook their heads, and Sandy Orr, spoke for them all.

  “We’ll stay with the herd. You gents are entitled to get as good a deal as you can, and you don’t need any of us for that. Besides, we’ve been down and out for so long, I’m not sure anybody around here would take us serious, if we showed up wantin’ to buy stock.”

  “Dallas and me will take care of it,” said Lonnie, “but you hombres are part of this outfit. Don’t ever sell yourselves short. Your opinions are welcome.”

  “We’re obliged,” Justin Irwin said.

  “Yeah,” said Benjamin Raines. “You got yourself some cowboys. At least until we’re so old and stove-up we can’t ride.”

  “Come on, Dallas,” Lonnie said. “Maybe we can make deals for some of those cows today. I’ll shoot for a thousand head, and you do the same. We’ll meet back here with our gather before the start of the first watch.”

  “One thing I’d like to suggest,” said Gus Wilder. “All of us have kin around here, and I reckon they’ll appreciate it if you call on them first. They’ll all have cows to sell, and I know they need the money.”

  “Good thinking,” Lonnie said. “Chances are, we may get the rest of our herd without going any farther.”

  Lonnie and Dallas mounted and rode out. Two hours later, Elliot Graves returned with two mules on lead ropes.

  “Bueno,” said Kirby Lowe. “Is there a chance he can find us one more?”

  “He’s goin’ to try,” Graves said.

  “There ain’t much need for a wagon until we get that fourth mule,” said Sandy Orr.

  “Pa says we’ll likely have to pay more money for another mule,” Graves said. “There’s not many outfits that have extra stock, because of dry weather and poor graze.”

  “Thanks to Lonnie gettin’ hitched to Becky Holt, we got half our herd and it ain’t cost us a thing. We can afford a couple of hundred dollars for a mule,” said Dirk.

  “It’s just as well Lonnie ain’t hearin’ you say that,” Waco Talley said. “You’re makin’ it sound like he took the woman just to get her cattle.”

  “Well, that ain’t what I meant,” said Dirk. “When they tied the knot, Lonnie didn’t know if she had ten cows of a thousand. I figure all of us came out ahead. Especially Lonnie. Becky’s one fine-looking woman, and I’d be jealous as hell if I didn’t have April.”

  * * *

  Lonnie returned to the herd only minutes behind Dallas. After they had dismounted, Lonnie spoke.

  “Gus, that was a good idea, calling on your kin. We made a deal for twenty-one hundred cows, with three hundred and fifty of them coming from each of your kin. They’ve agreed to let us leave them there until we’re ready for the trail. Elliot, is there any chance your Pa can find us one more mule?”

  “Maybe,” said Graves, “but he reckons it’ll cost us more.”

  “Tomorrow,” Lonnie said, “I’ll let you have two hundred dollars. Instead of just riding from one spread to another, see if your pa knows who has mules. Now it’s time for those of you on the first watch to ride in and eat. Hustle on back, so those of us on the second watch can eat and get a few hours’ sleep.”

  Dirk McNelly, Kirby Lowe, Gus Wilder, Waco Talley, and Sandy Orr mounted and rode out, bound for the Kilgore ranch. They returned just as the sun dipped below the western horizon.

  “Dirk,” said Lonnie, “you’re kind of white around the gills. Anything wrong?”

  “Not yet,” Dirk said, “but with night comin’ on, April reckons her kin will be lookin’ for her by morning. Her daddy hates the very ground I walk on, and April’s afraid he’ll show up raising hell.”

  “She may be right,” said Lonnie. “Being on the first watch, you’ll be riding back to the ranch at midnight, and you’ll be there in the morning. I think you should stay there long enough to see if Chad Tilden going to show up. You don’t think she’s having a change of mind about you and her gettin’ hitched, do you?”

  “No,” Dirk said. “She’s always known her Pa would explode when she left. She’s just a mite on the down side because she’s dreading a big fight with her pa. Legally, he can’t take her away, but that won’t stop him from making April miserable. She’s already figuring, with us going so far away, that she’ll never see her ma and pa again.”

  The Kilgore Ranch. July 12, 1853.

  The night was quiet. Come the dawn, the five men on the second watch were relieved by four riders from the first. Arriving at the ranch for breakfast, Lonnie spoke to Dirk McNelly, who had remained at the ranch, and then to Elliot Graves.

  “Remember, Dirk, you’re to spend some time with April until we know whether or not her pa’s coming looking for her. Elliot, do the best you can toward finding us that fourth mule. Dallas and me will ride to town and see about buying a wagon. The rest of you stay with the herd.”

  Except for Dirk McNelly, the men rode out toward their various destinations. Everyone had left Dirk and April at the kitchen table, for it was obvious the girl was afraid. As she lifted her coffee cup, her hand shook. Dirk wasn’t all that settled himself. He hadn’t the faintest idea what he could do if Chad Tilden showed up making demands. All the edge he had—if he had one—was the fact that he and April had spent most of the night together, and everything had been strictly legal.

  “A buckboard’s comin’,” Willard Kilgore shouted.

  The sun was noon-high when Chad Tilden reined his team to a halt in the Kilgore front yard. Beside him sat his wife, Edith. Willard Kilgore was there to greet them.

  “Step down and come in,” Willard invited.

  “I ain’t comin’ in,” said Tilden. “Not now, not ever. My little girl run away, and you give her a place to hide. I owe you for that.”

  “Your little girl is a grown woman, with the right to do whatever pleases her,” said Willard. “As of yesterday, she’s also a married woman, bound for Utah Territory. The only decent thing for you to do is make peace with her. She and Dirk’s in the parlor.”

  “That damn no-account Dirk McNelly,” Tilden snarled. “He’s never had nothing in his worthless life but a horse and saddle. Now you’ve been a party to the varmint taking my little girl. I want them to hear what I have to say.”

  The front door opened. Dirk and April stepped out on the front porch.

  “Have your say, then,” said Dirk.

  “As long as I’m alive, neither of you are ever to darken my door again,” Tilden said.

  “Pa,” April said pleadingly, “Dirk’s ranch in Utah would make four of yours. Can’t you let us go with your blessing?”

  “I’ve had my say,” Tilden snarled.

  Edith Tilden had sat there white-faced, saying nothing. When it became obvious that Chad intended to drive away, Edith snatched the reins from his hand. Before he was aware of what she had in mind, Edith was out of the buckboard, running toward April, who had started d
own the steps.

  “Woman,” Tilden shouted, “I forbid you going to her. It’s your damn duty to stand behind me, whatever I say or do.”

  April paused just short of Edith, for Edith no longer faced her. She had turned back to face her irate husband. In a calm voice, she spoke.

  “Forbid and be damned, Chad. I’ve stood behind you too long. Now I aim to stand beside April, to send her away with my blessing, with the hope that she’ll find the happiness that’s never been mine.”

  “You get back in this wagon, woman,” Tilden said, “or I’ll drive away and leave you.”

  “Do that,” said Edith, “and you’ll never see me again. I have kin who will welcome me, because they never liked you. Now I think they saw the cruelty in you that I couldn’t see until it was too late.”

  Edith went to April, and the two clung together.

  “Come on to the porch, out of the sun,” Mary Kilgore said.

  As though by prior agreement, Becky, Mindy, and Laura followed Willard and Mary Kilgore into the house, leaving Dirk McNelly, April, and her mother on the front porch.

  “I’m sorry I had to slip away, Ma,” said April.

  “Don’t be,” Edith said. “You done what you had to.”

  Their eventual parting was a tearful one, the visit lasting more than an hour. Through it all, Chad sat in the buckboard. When Edith again mounted the box beside him, he flicked the team with the reins and drove away.

  *This will not be a chuck wagon, which was invented by Charles Goodnight in 1866.

  5

  A hundred and fifty dollars seems a mite expensive for a wagon,” Dallas said.

  “It’s a Studebaker,” said Lonnie. “There’s none better, and it comes with everything we’ll need to add a canvas top.”*

  “Take it,” said Stapleton, owner of the wagon yard, “and I’ll include the canvas at no extra charge.”

  “You got a deal,” Lonnie said, “but we’ll need to leave it here for a while. We’re short one mule. Do you know of anybody with a mule to sell?”

  “No,” said Stapleton. “The livery has some horses, but they’re a pretty scrubby lot.”

  “Now what?” Dallas said, after they had left the wagon yard.

  “I don’t want to disappoint Jess Odens by not doing what I promised,” said Lonnie. “I think we have to call on the sheriff and tell him we caught Odens sneaking around our herd. He ain’t likely to bother us again, but after we’re gone, he may backslide to his old rustling ways, stealing from our kin.”

  They found Sheriff Jackman in his office, and he listened while Lonnie and Dallas told him of their suspicions.

  “I’m obliged,” Jackman said, “and I’ll keep that in mind. For the last several years, ranchers have complained about losing a few cows at a time, and from what you’ve told me, I’m more and more inclined to believe it’s a one-man operation.”

  When Lonnie and Dallas rode back to the herd, Dirk was there. But there was no sign of Elliot Graves. Nobody said anything until Lonnie and Dallas had dismounted, and it was Dirk who spoke.

  “Lonnie, I’m obliged to you for lettin’ me stay with April. Her pa showed up, and he was just as nasty and mean as I was expecting. April’s ma was with Chad, and in spite of his threats and hell-raising, she wished April well. That helped some.”

  “I’m glad,” said Lonnie. “Dallas and me just bought a new Studebaker wagon in town.”

  “Bueno,” Kirby Lowe said. “Now all we need is that fourth mule. Elliot’s been gone for quite a spell.”

  “He may have had to ride from one ranch to another,” said Lonnie, “and that takes a while. Fact is, the drive may be held up, waiting on that one mule.”

  “I hope not,” said Waco. “Every day we lose looking for a mule may be one more day we’ll spend in neck-deep snow on the High Plains.”

  “If Elliot fails to find one today,” Lonnie said, “tomorrow, four of us will begin looking. There has to be one more damn mule that can be had, somewhere in Texas.”

  Elliot Graves returned empty-handed. After dismounting, he spoke.

  “I rode to six ranches, all south of here. Nobody with any mules is of a mind to sell one. I offered as much as two hundred dollars, with no takers. It’s not my money, so I’d not risk going any higher without you agreein’ to it.”

  “We’ve got to have one more mule,” Lonnie said, “if we have to pay as much as four hundred dollars.”

  “That’s a hell of a lot of money for one critter,” said Kirby Lowe. “Was we to go over the border, we could likely get one for a hundred or less.”

  “We could also get ourselves shot full of holes,” Lonnie said. “That war that we fought with Mexico is still fresh in the minds of Mejicanos. There’s nothing they’d like better than gettin’ some foolish Americanos across the river and in their gunsights.”

  “I reckon you’re right,” said Kirby. “It was just an idea.”

  “A bad idea,” Dallas said. “Maybe we ought to ride north, to Austin or Waco. None of the spreads south of here is likely to have any extra animals, because of their nearness to the border.”

  The men on the first watch rode to the Kilgore ranch, had their supper, and rode back to the herd, allowing the second watch to ride in. Willard Kilgore sat on the shaded porch, and Lonnie paused to talk to him.

  “Dirk said Chad Tilden was here,” said Lonnie.

  “He was,” Willard said, “and he was even worse than I expected. But April’s ma made up for his devilment. April’s goin’ to be all right.”

  On Texas Range. July 13, 1853.

  “Dallas,” said Lonnie, “you, me, Dirk, and Kirby are going mule-hunting. The rest of you stay with the herd. Waco, you’re in charge.”

  The four men mounted and rode out. Lonnie spoke.

  “I reckon we’d, better not split up. With some of us not knowing what the others are doing, we could end up with two expensive mules. We’ll first try the liveries in Austin and Waco. If we come up dry there, we’ll have to split up and ride to individual ranches.”

  “It’s near two hundred miles to Waco,” said Kirby. “There’s no way we can ride all that far, beat the bushes for a mule, and be back with our herd before dark.”

  “I reckon you’re right,” Lonnie said. “I’m just anxious to find that blasted mule. If we don’t come up with one in Austin, Waco will have to wait.”

  Austin, Texas. July 13, 1853.

  Lonnie and his companions reined up before the livery. Just above the two wide double doors was a hand-lettered sign that read TARKINGTON AND SONS. LIVESTOCK BOUGHT AND SOLD. The four men dismounted and entered the cool interior of the livery bam.

  “What can I do for you gents?” a thin little man asked. His hair—what there was of it—was gray, and he looked at them over the tops of his spectacles.

  “You can sell us a mule, if you have one,” said Lonnie. “If you don’t, then maybe you can direct us to somebody who has one for sale. I’m Lonnie Kilgore. My pards are Dallas Weaver, Dirk McNelly, and Kirby Lowe. We’re all from San Antone.”

  “I’m Wade Tarkington,” the livery man said, “and I do happen to have a mule, but I’ll not sell him without a bill of sale, and I don’t have one. Night before last, some varmint took one of my best horses, leavin’ a lame mule behind. Dang mule, if he wasn’t lame, is worth maybe a hundred dollars. The horse that I lost was worth twice that.”

  “We’re badly in need of a fourth mule to pull a wagon,” said Lonnie, “and we’re about to take a cattle drive to Utah Territory, so we’re not all that concerned about a bill of sale. If the mule’s just lame, we’ll pay you two hundred dollars for him.”

  “He’s just lame,” Tarkington said, “and in another two or three days, he’ll be good as ever. I’ll write you a bill of sale, for whatever it’s worth, and you got yourself a mule.”

  Lonnie and his companions rode south toward San Antonio. Kirby Lowe led the mule on a lead rope.

  “He ain’t limping,” said Dallas, “a
nd that’s a good sign.”

  “When we get him to the ranch,” Lonnie said, “I’ll douse that sore leg with plenty of horse liniment. Otherwise, he looks healthy enough.”

  When they reached the Kilgore ranch, Kirby led the mule into the barn, while Lonnie looked for the horse liniment. Willard Kilgore had seen them ride in, and he came on to the barn.

  “So you found one,” said Willard.

  “A lame one,” Lonnie said. “We’ll have to wait on him to heal, but I’ve doctored him with horse liniment. As soon as he’s able, we’ll be ready to go. We just bought a brand-new Studebaker wagon in town, and it’s just waiting for that fourth mule.”

  Lonnie, Dallas, Dirk, and Kirby rode back to the herd and announced the finding and the purchasing of the mule, although he was lame.

  “It’ll take a while for him to heal,” said Elliot Graves, “but that won’t take near as long as some of us gallavantin’ around Texas lookin’ for another one.”

  “Tomorrow,” Lonnie said, “five of us will begin driving the cattle we’ve bought, mixing them with this gather. I figure that’ll take maybe two days. By then, the mule should be in condition to work. Then we’ll be ready to pick up the wagon and load it with provisions for the drive to Green River.”

  “Then maybe four days from now, we’ll be able to move ’em out,” Dirk said. “April’s still afraid her old daddy might do something foolish. Like shootin’ me.”

  “Not unless he aims to shoot some of the rest of us along with you,” said Lonnie. “We’re an outfit, and we have to side one another. Where we’re going, there’ll be nobody else we can count on.”

  On the Range. July 16, 1853.

  At the end of two days, another 2,100 head of cattle had been added to the gather.

  “They can’t stay here more than another day,” Waco observed the next morning. “The graze is already gettin’ thin.”