The Green River Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “Sí,” Wovoka agreed.

  “That makes sense,” said Lonnie. “Do it, but don’t stay later than midnight. We need a deadline, because we’re not sure the two of you won’t run into unexpected trouble.”

  “We don’t aim to get ourselves captured, if that’s what you mean,” Justin said.

  “That’s exactly what I mean,” said Lonnie. “If the hombre Wovoka shot didn’t return to his outfit before following you and Wovoka, the rest of his bunch may come looking for him. They’ll not only find the tracks of yours and Wovoka’s horses, they’ll also find the tracks of this dead varmint’s horse from when he followed you. Don’t take any big chances. We may have to take it a day at a time. If you don’t find them dug in for an ambush today, we’ll prepare for one tomorrow.”

  “Don’t hold supper for us, ladies,” Justin said. “We may be gettin’ in late. Our supper may be river water and jerked beef.”

  “I feel a lot safer with them scouting ahead,” said Becky. “I just wish we could have done this without going near the border.”

  “We could have,” Lonnie replied, irritated. “Hell, we could have taken a more northerly direction and reached the Pecos somewhere north of Fort Stockton. But that would have taken us two hundred miles across Texas plains that haven’t seen more than a little rain in the past two years. It’s worth fighting a bunch of Mejicano outlaws, just to have water all the way to Santa Fe.”

  “I realize that,” said Becky, “but what’s wrong with me wishing we didn’t have to go near the border and fight outlaws? Stop talking to me like you’re my daddy.”

  “If I was your daddy,” Lonnie said, “I’d take a belt to your backside every morning before breakfast, just to keep you in line for the day.”

  She turned her head just enough to see his eyes, wondering if he was serious. Deciding that he was, she responded, the rough edge of her voice matching his.

  “Ah reckon we been too close to one another too long,” said Becky, in her best Texas drawl. “From here on to Utah, my blankets won’t be spread nowhere close to yours.”

  “It’s just as well,” Lonnie growled. “It never gets dark enough for you to do anything except talk. Damn it, you promised to love, honor, and obey.”

  “I never promised to lay my bare bottom on the ground in a cow camp while you’re having your way with me,” said Becky.

  The affair had erupted into a full-blown argument, with Lonnie and Becky standing toe-to-toe, glaring at one another.

  Lonnie went red as a sunset, and while he was trying to think of a suitable scathing response, Mindy laughed. Within seconds, the rest of the outfit had joined in. Even Wovoka understood.

  “Damn it,” Lonnie said, still half-angry, “every man needs a woman to help him make a fool of himself.”

  “Most men don’t need any help,” said Becky, and she wasn’t smiling.

  “Come on,” Justin Irwin said. “Wovoka and me likely won’t have any supper, and we ain’t goin’ nowhere until we’ve had breakfast.”

  “Sí,” said Wovoka. “Squaw fight, we not eat.”

  That brought on a new round of laughter. Becky joined in, and Lonnie was forced to do likewise. The Indian had summed it up neatly, and suddenly Lonnie grinned at him. The foolish sparring had ended. At least for a while.

  After breakfast, Justin and Wovoka saddled their horses and rode out well ahead of the trail drive. Neither spoke, but Justin noted that his companion still had a spark in his dark eyes. He now seemed more than ever a part of their outfit. When they had ridden what Justin estimated was fifteen miles, he reined up, Wovoka beside him.

  “No sign of them,” said Justin, “but that don’t mean they won’t come after us sometime tomorrow. There’ll be a moon tonight. We’ll ride on to Del Rio, where we can watch the saloon and the crossing.”

  Wovoka nodded, and they rode out. Long before reaching Del Rio, Justin pointed west. He rode that direction, Wovoka following. They would reach the river somewhere to the west of the crossing, working their way in so that they might observe the crossing and the saloon. The riverbank was overgrown with brush and willows. Justin and Wovoka rode downstream until they found a suitable place to conceal their horses. From there, they continued on foot, halting when they could see the isolated store building and the saloon in the distance. The riverbanks had been cleared for a distance, allowing for the crossing. It could easily be seen, even in the moonlight. Coming up with the very objection that was in Justin’s mind, Wovoka spoke softly.

  “Per’ap they no cross here.”

  “It’s a chance we’ll have to take,” Justin said. “They could cross the border anywhere within fifty miles, and there’s no way we can watch that much territory. If they don’t get here until after dark, they’ll likely spend some time in the saloon, and that’ll mean what they have planned for us won’t happen until tomorrow.”

  Justin and Wovoka found shade under a willow tree, which was welcome because not a breath of air stirred. The river was at low ebb, flowing sluggishly. Something—probably a frog—plopped into the water.

  “One of us can watch as good as two,” said Justin. “We can take turns gettin’ us some sleep.”

  Wovoka nodded, pointing to Justin, who sat with his back against the tree’s trunk, tilting his hat over his eyes. Doing battle with an enemy was something the Indian well understood, and not once did he take his eyes off the saloon, the store, or the crossing beyond. The sun was low in the west when Justin took off his hat and fanned his sweating face.

  “No come,” said Wovoka.

  “If they’re comin’ at all, it’ll be after dark,” said Justin. “I’ll watch for a while.”

  “We both watch,” Wovoka said. “Eat.”

  They sat there in silence, eating the jerked beef they had brought with them, since it seemed there was no way they could return to the trail drive for supper. Justin felt a little guilty, having napped most of the afternoon while Wovoka watched the crossing. But there was a restless excitement in the Indian, for the coming of an enemy was something he well understood. The sun sank below the western horizon, fanning the sky with lurid fingers of crimson marking the way of its going. Justin wiped the sweat from his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt. By the time the first stars twinkled in a sea of purple sky, just a whisper of cooling wind came out of the northwest.

  “Another three hours until moonrise,” said Justin. While fully understanding the necessity of it, he was weary of the inactivity and the waiting.

  Wovoka said nothing, and Justin Irwin admired the Indian’s patience. The sky was a mass of stars when the moon finally lifted its golden head above the horizon. Wovoka got to his feet and walking downstream a ways, stood there listening. He then returned to his companion and spoke softly.

  “Hombres come. Many horses.”

  Justin listened and could hear the soft thud of horses’ hooves well before he could see the riders. There was a splashing as they rode across the river. Reining up before the saloon, they dismounted and tied their horses to the hitch rail. In the lamplight fanning out the door, Justin counted fourteen men entering the saloon.

  “Whatever they have planned for us will come tomorrow,” said Justin. “Now it’s time to ride back to the outfit.”

  “Per’ap the plan no work, if they no got horses,” Wovoka said.

  Justin laughed. “I swear, you’re thinking like a hell-for-leather Texan. What you got on your mind, Wovoka?”

  “You watch,” said Wovoka.

  Wovoka’s Bowie knife in his hand, Justin watched the shadowy form of the Indian as he approached the horses tied to the saloon’s hitch rail. Without a sound, he returned with two of the horses. In a matter of minutes, he had them all. Using lariats from the saddles of the horses, Wovoka and Justin quickly fashioned lead ropes. Finally, with each of them leading seven horses, they rode eastward to join the trail drive.

  “Wovoka,” said Justin, “that was slick. I never seen nothing like it.”

  The India
n grunted his appreciation, and they rode on.

  *Lightning was feared, having killed more riders than stampedes.

  *The possum belly: a cowhide slung under a wagon, for storing dry kindling and wood.

  *Del Rio had a population of fifty in 1855.

  7

  Leading so many horses, it was past midnight when Justin and Wovoka approached the camp. Lonnie Kilgore issued the challenge.

  “Halt and identify yourselves.”

  “Justin and Wovoka,” said Justin.

  “Who’s ridin’ the other horses?” Lonnie asked suspiciously.

  “Nobody,” said Justin. “They kind of took up with Wovoka in Del Rio and followed us back.”

  Justin and Wovoka led the fourteen horses into the, clearing near the wagon. When they had dismounted, Lonnie spoke.

  “Now, what’s this all about?”

  Quickly Justin explained, giving Wovoka full credit for having taken the horses. When he had finished, Dallas laughed. Benjamin Raines and Elliot Graves joined in. The arrival of so many horses, combined with the laughter, awakened the rest of the camp, and Justin had to repeat the story. There was much more laughter, and only when it had died down did Lonnie speak.

  “I never expected anything like this. Suppose those hombres were just on their way to the saloon, with no intention of bushwhacking us? That makes us horse thieves.”

  “That’s not very likely,” Justin said. “Why would fourteen men, armed to the teeth, ride desolate country like this unless they stand to gain something by it? If it makes you feel better, once we’re beyond Del Rio, you can turn their horses loose.”

  “Ugh,” said Wovoka, not liking the turn things had taken.

  “I don’t think we owe them the return of these horses,” Dallas said, “if they’re who we think they are. Notice in every saddle boot there’s a long gun?”

  “He’s right,” said Benjamin Raines. “If that bunch comes after us, they’ll have to bushwhack us with pistols.”

  “We can’t rule out the possibility they’ll do exactly that,” Dallas said. “These days, you can shoot some hombre and maybe get away with it. But take his horse, and you’re likely to be strung up. Since this is something that can’t be undone, I reckon we’d better follow our plan, expecting an ambush, until we’re well north of Del Rio.”

  “That’s all we can do,” said Lonnie. “Justin, I want you and Wovoka out there ahead of us for the next two or three days. If this bunch is coming after us and they’re afoot, it won’t be easy finding them. Now all of you roll in your blankets and get what sleep you can.”

  Lonnie mounted his horse and again began circling the herd, aware that Becky rode beside him. Lonnie suspected she had something to say, and she did.

  “That may or may not have been such a good idea, Wovoka taking those horses, but I wish you hadn’t questioned it where he could hear. He’s loyal to us, and I feel better, him being with us.”

  “So do I,” said Lonnie, “and as for taking the horses of an enemy, that’s the Indian way. I’m just not sure it’s the right way at this particular time.”

  “I am,” Becky said. “What can this bunch of thieves do? They certainly can’t complain to the law that, while they were in the Texas side of the border, somebody took all their horses.”

  “No,” said Lonnie, “but let’s look at those horses in daylight. I’d bet my saddle that every last one has a Texas brand.”

  “Perhaps,” Becky said, “but we’re on a trail drive, needing to reach your Green River range ahead of winter snow. We can’t take the time to ride around south Texas looking for the rightful owners of these horses. Turn them loose, and if they’ve been across the border for as long as two weeks, they’ll return there.”*

  “I realize that,” said Lonnie. “That’s why we’re taking them with us. Since we’re unable to return them to their rightful owners, we’re more entitled to them than that bunch of Mejicano outlaws.”

  Wovoka was afoot, near enough to hear their words. He sighed with satisfaction, for he had not done wrong.

  Southwestern Texas. July 24, 1853.

  ‘Unless that bunch got their hands on some horses almighty quick,” Lonnie said, “we won’t be hearing from them before tomorrow. But we can’t afford to gamble. Justin, you and Wovoka ride at least as far as the next water, and a little beyond, if you can. Boot prints won’t be as easy to follow as horse backs, but that can’t be helped.”

  After breakfast, Lonnie and Wovoka again rode west. Wovoka rode slightly behind, and occasionally Justin turned his head enough to see the Indian. Wovoka looked grim, as though he’d been unjustly reprimanded. Lonnie made up his mind to talk to the Indian the first time they stopped to rest their horses.

  South of the Border. July 24, 1853.

  The saloon near Del Rio was about to close when the fourteen men stumbled out of the bar to discover they no longer had horses.

  “Por Dios,” slurred one of the riders. “What are we to do?”

  “Mama mía,” said Chavez, the leader of the bunch, “what do you think? We walk.”

  “By the horns of El Diablo,” one of the outlaws groaned, “which way? We cannot ambush these hombres afoot. They will ride us down.”

  “We do not be afoot, estupido” Chavez replied. “We will again cross the river, and we will find horses. They will be turned loose after the ambush, when we have taken our own, that were taken from us.”

  So the outlaws started south on foot, with the nearest horses many miles away. They kept a steady pace, but that changed when the sun lifted its golden face above the eastern horizon. Men staggered along until they found some shade, and there they collapsed, heaving for breath.

  “Madre de Dios,” Chavez shouted, “we do not have much time until the Americanos are gone, taking our horses. On your feet.”

  Their narrow Mexican boots had blistered their feet, and every step was torture. Still they limped on, hating Chavez almost as much as the son of a donkey who had taken their horses.

  Fifteen miles east of Del Rio and the border, Justin and Wovoka reined up. Nothing interrupted the stillness, and the Indian looked questioningly at Justin.

  “If they aim to try and bushwhack us afoot,” said Justin, “it’ll take them longer to get here. We’d better ride on a ways and, if we can, find some sign of their coming.”

  They rode on, reining up a mile or two from the border.

  “They no walk,” Wovoka said.

  “Not in this direction, anyway,” said Justin. “That leaves just one possibility. They’re hoofin’ it back across the border for some horses. Depending on how far they have to walk, it’s unlikely they’ll be in a position to come after us before sometime tomorrow. We might as well ride back and meet the outfit.”

  Seeing the herd coming, Justin and Wovoka reined up, waiting until Lonnie reached them. They then rode alongside him long enough for Justin to relay what he and Wovoka had learned.

  Lonnie laughed. “They must really have a mad on, to hike God knows how far into old Mexico. But I think you’re right, They’re after horses. They know about how much time they have before we reach Del Rio. If they get mounted sometime today or tonight, we’ll still have a fight on our hands tomorrow.”

  Leaving Wovoka with Lonnie at the point position, Justin joined the drag riders. One of them was Kirby Lowe, and he trotted his horse alongside Justin’s.

  “Where are they?” Kirby asked.

  “Looks like they’ve gone back across the border, probably to get some horses,” said Justin. “I reckon we’ll know tomorrow.”

  Not until the day was done and the herd bedded down for the night did Lonnie repeat what Justin had told him. For a moment there was silence as the outfit digested the information.

  “So we’ve just slowed them down some,” Dallas said.

  “Yes,” said Lonnie, “but if they’ve gone after more horses, that tells us something we need to know. They aim to attack us, and they won’t be on foot when they do. The best t
ime for them to attack is when we’re nearest the border, and that should come tomorrow. But if it doesn’t come tomorrow, they can still come after us. After we reach the Pecos, we can’t possibly cover more than fifteen miles with the herd before nightfall. They can still catch up to us and give us hell.”

  “If they don’t jump us tomorrow,” Justin said. “Wovoka and me will still have to scout on ahead. The varmints will know we’re expecting them, and they’ll ride far enough east or west to circle around and get ahead of us.”

  “I’d not be surprised if they wait until we reach the Pecos,” said Lonnie. “There may be some prime places for an ambush along the river, and if they don’t attack tomorrow, they could figure that as a means of confusing us and catching us off guard. We’ll be ready for them tomorrow and several days after that. I can’t believe they’d pass up a herd the size of ours so near the border.”

  “We got their horses, too,” Waco said. “That had to be humiliating.”

  Supper was ready, and by the time the outfit had eaten, it was time for the first watch to begin circling the herd. They mounted their horses and rode out. April followed Dirk, while Laura followed Kirby.

  “I never thought those ladies would be out there every night,” Dallas said, “but there they are. They’re like a couple of shadows.”

  “We got a couple of shadows, too,” said Lonnie. “Mindy rides with you, while Becky’s riding with me. It hasn’t caused any trouble so far, and it makes them feel better.”

  By midnight, big gray clouds had gathered. Two hours before dawn, the rain started. When it was light enough to see, Lonnie, Dallas, Justin, and Elliot used one of the sheets of extra canvas to rig a shelter behind the wagon, where breakfast could be prepared. The dry wood in the wagon’s possum belly served its purpose well.

  “I hate to mention this,” Dallas said, “but if this rain don’t soon slack off, there’ll be so much mud, this wagon won’t be going nowhere.”