The Green River Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “Maybe we’re not into Paiute country yet,” Lonnie said, “but we’ll continue scouting. I don’t want any unpleasant surprises.”

  Wovoka remained with Lonnie, while Justin rode back to join the drag riders. It was Becky’s day on the wagon. Mindy, April, and Laura trotted their horses until they caught up to the drag riders.

  “No Indians?” Mindy inquired.

  “None,” said Justin, “and no tracks.”

  Even with having gotten a late start, the drive went approximately ten miles. The sun was already down when they bedded down the horses and cattle alongside the Pecos.

  “Keep the fires small,” Lonnie cautioned. “No sign of Paiutes yet, but smoke carries a long way at night. Put the fires out as soon as possible.”

  When the watch changed at midnight, there had been no disturbance. There was graze enough along the Pecos to satisfy the horses and longhorns for at least a night. The next morning, of course, they would again be on the trail. Those just off the first watch rolled in their blankets. They were all asleep, but some little sound had awakened Laura. She sat up, and there was a skunk with its head in her saddlebags.

  “Kirby!” she hissed.

  “What is it?” Kirby asked sleepily.

  “There’s a damn skunk in my saddlebag,” said Laura in a quavering voice.

  “Keep your mouth shut and don’t move,” Kirby hissed back.

  The rest of the camp—including those on the second watch—had apparently heard the exchange, for Laura thought she heard somebody laugh. The skunk had backed away from the saddlebags and stood there looking at her as though considering leaving her something to remember him by. Finally he ambled away into the darkness.

  “He’s gone,” said Laura with a sigh of relief.

  With a grant, Kirby Lowe got up and made his way to where Laura sat.

  “How many times have I told you never to leave your saddlebags on the ground?” said Kirby. “Hang them over the side of the wagon box or over a tree limb, but never on the ground. Do you have jerked beef in there?”

  “Yes,” Laura said in a quivering voice.

  Kirby took the saddlebags, hanging them over a head-high pine limb. He then returned to his blankets.

  “You’re not leaving me alone, are you?” Laura asked. “Suppose he comes back?”

  “He ain’t likely to,” said Kirby, “but if he does, keep your mouth shut and don’t move a muscle. Get yourself a dose of skunk smell, and it’ll be until this time next year wearin’ off. Now get some sleep.”

  “No,” Laura said angrily. “I’m going to sit here the rest of the night and watch.”

  “Go ahead,” said Kirby, “but be quiet about it. Strange sounds in the dark are likely to stampede the herd.”

  Seething with anger, Laura folded her blankets and sat down, her back against a pine tree. Try as she might to stay awake, she felt herself nodding. But suddenly she sat up, not entirely sure what had awakened her. Blaming it on her imagination, she had just managed to calm herself when she heard what sounded like the far-off scream of a woman. It had not been lost on the horses and mules, for she could hear them as the second watch tried to calm them. But there was no movement among those from the first watch who slept. As quietly as she could, taking her blankets, Laura lay down as near Kirby as she could get.

  “You don’t look like you slept much last night, Laura,” said Becky, as the women were preparing breakfast later.

  “You know I didn’t,” Laura said sourly, “and don’t pretend you don’t know why.”

  “When you got up this morning,” said Mindy, “you looked like you might just cloud up and rain all over Kirby. That wasn’t his fault, you know.”

  “I’m not saying it was his fault,” Laura said angrily. “I hate him because all he wanted was to sleep. He didn’t care a damn about me.”

  “You left that skunk an invitation, and he took it,” said April.

  “If all of you are so damned concerned about Kirby,” Laura said, “then you can take turns sleeping with him.”

  It was a shocking thing to have said. Becky, Mindy, and April turned away, all their faces crimson. Laura immediately regretted her words, for Kirby Lowe had heard her. His face pale, he turned away. Breakfast was a silent meal. The entire outfit knew there was a “strain between Kirby and Laura. It was the kind of thing that could be resolved only by the stubborn parties involved, and neither seemed willing to bend in the slightest.

  “Justin,” said Lonnie when breakfast was over, “you and Wovoka scout ahead twenty miles. Since we’ve lost some time, I think we ought to step up the gait some. These cows and horses have enough trail savvy, and there’s plenty of water, so there shouldn’t be any problem.”

  Justin and Wovoka rode out, as the rest of the outfit saddled their horses and hitched the mules to the wagon. While Lonnie had no wish to involve himself in a foolish fight between Kirby and Laura, he moved Kirby from drag to a swing position. The increased gait resulted in the longest day’s drive since the outfit had been on the trail. Everybody was elated except Kirby and Laura. After supper, when the first watch had mounted up to ride, Laura made it a point not to ride near Kirby.

  “I never seen so much foolishness between two people,” said Dallas.

  “I seem to recall you and Mindy had some hard words,” Lonnie said.

  “Yeah,” said Dallas sheepishly, “but we compromised. When she called me a fool, I just admitted it.”

  The second watch took over at midnight, while those on the first watch settled down to get what sleep they could. Suddenly there was a scream of terror, and everybody was on his feet, reaching for a gun. Dirk McNelly was the first to discover the cause of the disturbance. April was lying belly-down, her Levi’s around her ankles.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?” Dirk demanded. “Are you tryin’ to stampede the herd?”

  “Is that all you care about, the damn herd?” April demanded. “I went to the bushes, and something cold and wet touched my behind.”

  Dirk made the mistake of laughing. “Likely a mule or a horse. It ain’t like a cougar was nuzzled up to you. Now get up and fasten your britches. The others will be coming to see what’s happened to you.”

  But Lonnie and the others had heard enough. It was shaping up like another of those foolish arguments, like the one in which Kirby and Laura had been involved the night before. Those on the second watch resumed their duties, while the first watch tried to sleep.

  9

  After April had calmed down and Dirk had gone back to sleep, Lonnie spoke to his companions on the second watch.

  “I think Dirk may have been right,” Lonnie said. “That may have been a horse, a mule, or even a cow that scared April. If it was one of the mules, and he’s lit out, we may be in trouble. Let’s have a look.”

  “I don’t know how any one of ’em could have got past us,” said Elliot Graves. “We’ve been watching pretty close.”

  But try as they might, they could find only three mules.

  “It’s that troublesome varmint we bought that was lame,” said Dallas, “and we’ll never find him in the dark.”

  “We’ll have to wait for first light,” Lonnie said. “Another delay.”

  Then on the wind came a faraway, chilling scream.

  “Cougar,” said Justin Irwin. “First light may be too late, and the delay may be longer than we expect.”

  “I heard him a while ago,” Lonnie said, “and he’s no closer. He’s somewhere in those mountains to the west of us, and the wind’s from that direction.”

  “I once talked to a gent that rode the Old Spanish Trail from Santa Fe to California,” Benjamin Raines said. “He claims there’s cougars and grizzlies in northern New Mexico and southern Colorado.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” said Lonnie. “I’m hoping we can avoid them. It’s bad enough that we may have to fight the Paiutes and the Mormons.”

  Lonnie made the announcement to the outfit before breakfast.


  “We’re missing a mule, and we can’t move on until we find him. After breakfast, Gus, Dallas, Waco, and me will go looking for him.”

  April made it a point not to notice Dirk McNelly glaring at her. The rest of the outfit didn’t look at either of them. Breakfast was a silent affair. Afterward, Lonnie, Dallas, Gus, and Waco saddled their horses and rode out.

  “We’ll try this side of the river first,” Lonnie said. “Half-circles.”

  They rode almost a mile downriver. From there, they spaced themselves a few yards apart along the river. They would each ride a half-circle around their camp and the herd, ending at the river a mile or so above the herd. When they had accomplished that, there was no sign of the mule, and no tracks.

  “He had to cross the river, then,” Dallas said. “I reckon April must have scared hell out of him.”

  “It didn’t take much to scare him,” said Gus. “That cougar’s squall may have got under his hide.”

  “We’ll cross the river and ride half-circles again,” Lonnie said. “It’s possible, after he scared April, that he went directly across the river. That would account for there being no tracks over here.”

  They found a shallows and rode across the Pecos. Riding back downriver, they almost immediately found mule tracks.

  “Well, we know the little varmint’s somewhere on this side of the river,” said Dallas.

  Following the mule’s tracks, they were headed west up a rock-strewn slope. Reaching the crest of that slope, they immediately found themselves facing another. The ground was flint-hard. They were on solid rock, without a sign of any mule tracks.

  “I have an idea we’re going to reach a higher and higher elevation,” Lonnie said, “and not a sign of any mule tracks.”

  “Along with his other faults,” said Dallas, “that mule’s part mountain goat.”

  “Let’s stop and listen,” Gus suggested. “On solid rock, surely he’ll make some noise.”

  The wind was from the west, and suddenly they heard the desperate, distinct braying of a mule.

  “Wherever he is, the little varmint’s in trouble,” Lonnie said. “Come on.”

  When they eventually found the mule, his left hind foot was wedged in a rock crevice. The troublesome animal regarded them with sad eyes, while Lonnie tried to free its hoof from the crevice.

  “Damn it,” said Lonnie, “he’s caught for good.”

  “Won’t it come out the way it went in?” Dallas asked.

  “Take a look,” said Lonnie. “He’s been trapped here so long, his leg is badly swollen. It’s already been cut, and trying to force it out will only cut it deeper. He won’t be of any use to us if we cut a tendon to free him. Dallas, you and Waco ride back to camp. In the wagon is a sledgehammer and an iron wedge. Bring them.”

  “We may be a while,” Dallas said, “if we have to unload some of the wagon.”

  “In that case,” said Lonnie, “get some of the rest of the outfit to help you.”

  The rest of the outfit was waiting anxiously for the return of the riders who had gone in search of the mule. Quickly they gathered around as Dallas and Waco dismounted.

  “Not much time for talk,” Dallas said. “The mule’s caught his foot between two ledges or rock, and he’s hurt some. Lonnie and Waco’s stayed with him, so’s he don’t struggle around and hurt himself more. There’s a sledgehammer and an iron wedge somewhere in the wagon. Lonnie wants it.”

  There was a search for the sledgehammer and the wedge, and after unloading part of the wagon’s goods, their search was rewarded. Dallas and Waco took the tools, mounted their horses, and rode back across the river.

  “Where’s April?” Dirk asked. “She was here just a minute ago.”

  “After last night, I reckon she’s upset with you,” said Becky. “Now she likely thinks the mule being gone is her fault.”

  “Maybe it is,” Dirk said.

  “The mule had already wandered away from the other mules and the horses,” snapped Becky, “and even if he hadn’t frightened April, he might still be where he is right now. If you’re just half as much a man as you should be, you’ll find her and tell her none of this is her fault.”

  Dirk looked at her, his fists doubled and his face flaming red. For a moment, Becky was afraid of him. Finally, with a sigh, he turned away and went looking for April. Well beyond the herd, he found her sitting cross-legged beside the river, staring into the muddy water. Without a word, he sat down beside her, and it was she who finally spoke.

  “I know what the others must think of me. Aren’t you afraid some of it may rub off on you?”

  “Nobody’s blamed you for anything, except me,” said Dirk, “and I reckon I shot off my mouth without thinking. That blasted mule was already wandering away when he got to you. If he hadn’t gone anywhere near you, he’d still have been gone. Nobody’s blaming you for anything. Come on back and join the rest of the outfit. Lonnie, Dallas, Gus, and Waco have found the mule. He’s caught a hind leg between two rocks, and they’re freeing him.”

  “I’ll go with you,” April said, “but you’ll have to forgive me for being a little afraid. I’ve never been away from home before, and I’ve never slept in the wilds. I’ll do better, if I can.”

  “Whether you do or don’t,” said Dirk, his hands on her shoulders, “you’re my woman, and I couldn’t go on without you. From now on, spread your blankets next to mine, and I’ll see that nothing bothers you.”

  That earned him a smile, and she took his hand.

  “We only had to unload about half the wagon,” Dallas said, when he and Waco had dismounted. “When we’re done with this hammer and wedge, I’d like to suggest we stash them under the wagon seat. The rest of the outfit’s trying to pack the wagon back the way it was.”

  “You can stuff them in your saddlebags, for all I care,” Lonnie said. “Nothing concerns me right now except freeing this jughead of a mule and seeing how bad he’s hurt.”

  “You can’t get him loose too soon to suit me,” said Gus, who had been restraining the desperate mule.

  “Dallas,” said Lonnie, “work that wedge as far into that crevice as it will go and hold it there. We’ll never get him loose unless we can widen that crevice.”

  But it seemed the troublesome mule lacked confidence in their procedure, for he began braying to high heaven.

  “Damn it, mule, shut up,” Waco said. “Every Paiute within a hundred miles can hear you.”

  But the mule continued braying, and it seemed he was getting progressively louder. He ceased for a moment as Lonnie began pounding the head of the iron wedge with the sledgehammer. The wedge didn’t move, and again the mule began braying his misery.

  “Use that hammer on his hard head,” said Dallas. “It’ll shut him up until we can get him loose.”

  “Do that,” Waco said, as he tried to steady the mule, “and I’ll let you hold the critter up while he’s out cold.”

  “None of that,” said Lonnie, as he stopped to catch his breath. “We already have all the trouble we need. Somewhere down deep, this rock may be as big as a house. If it is, we’ll need blasting powder to widen that crevice.”

  “We have two kegs of the stuff,” Dallas said.

  “And no possible way we can use it without killing the mule in the process,” said Gus. “We might as well just shoot the varmint and get him out of his misery.”

  “He’s stubborn, lame, and has a bad case of wanderlust,” Lonnie said, “but we need him. I doubt we’ll ever widen this crevice with a wedge. I’ll try something else.”

  With all his strength, Lonnie swung the hammer against one side of the crevice. Rock fragments pelted the mule’s behind, and he brayed all the louder. It required the combined efforts of Waco, Dallas, and Gus to prevent the mule from further injuring his already swollen and bloody hind leg.

  “Steady him,” said Lonnie. “A few more blows, and I’ll have broken off enough of this rock to widen the crevice.”

  “Don’t be too long,” Da
llas said. “I reckon that shattered rock digging into his hide feels like buckshot. You want me to take the hammer for a while?”

  “I want you to help Gus and Waco hold this damn mule steady,” said Lonnie shortly.

  “Look,” Gus said, pointing toward the sky.

  Far above them, four buzzards circled. They awaited death. If not immediately, then for the certainty of its coming.

  “Damn,” said Lonnie, as he again swung the heavy hammer against the rock. He had struck the rock at such an angle that fragments dug into his face. Blood was running into his eyes.

  “Let me have that hammer,” Dallas said. “You look like you’ve been scalped alive. Use your bandanna to stop that blood.”

  Lonnie needed no urging, for he couldn’t see. Dallas swung the heavy hammer. Again, rock chips pelted the mule, and the animal brayed like he’d been mortally wounded.

  “You’re some lucky bastard,” said Dallas through clenched teeth. “If we didn’t need you, I’d favor leaving you here, lettin’ the buzzards pick your carcass all the way to your hooves.”

  The mule brayed all the louder, snaking his head around to eye Dallas. Swinging the hammer, Dallas ignored him. More fragments of rock pelted the mule’s hide, and it was all Gus and Waco could do to restrain him. Lonnie was still wiping blood from his eyes.

  “One thing for sure,” Dallas said, pausing to catch his breath, “if we ever get him out of here, the little varmint’s goin’ to be hobbled when he ain’t hitched to the wagon.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me on that,” said Lonnie. “Let me have the hammer.”

  “No,” Waco said. “Let me have a shot at it.”

  Waco swung the hammer with all his might, splintering more of the rock, but still the mule’s hind leg was firmly caught.

  “It’s goin’ to be ticklish from here on,” said Lonnie. “We’ll have to shatter the rock where it has him trapped. A glancing blow from the hammer could break his leg. Do you want me to take the hammer again?”