The Green River Trail

by Ralph Compton

  His relief obvious, Elkins left the stand.

  “I have reached a verdict,” Judge Guerdon said. “All stand, and the two accused will approach the bench.”

  Gus and Waco stood up and approached the bench.

  “Based on what I have heard,” said Judge Guerdon, “and the fundamental right every man has to defend his own life, I am declaring this a case of self-defense. Sheriff, you will remove the cuffs from these men. After that, we stand adjourned, and Sheriff, I want to see you in my quarters immediately.”

  Sheriff Singleton’s eyes were stormy as he removed the irons from the wrists of Waco and Gus. The lawman then did a strange thing. Ripping the star from his vest, he dropped it before the judge. When he spoke, his voice was bitter.

  “You want my badge, damn you, here it is.”

  With that, he walked out of the courtroom. Gus and Waco were congratulated by their comrades, and they hurried to catch up to the house dealer and the barkeep who had testified on their behalf.

  “You gents have done this town a favor,” said Ernie Gordon, the house dealer. “I am ashamed of myself for having kept silent for all these years about Billy Singleton’s cheating with marked cards. We put up with him because we were afraid his daddy would come down on us. The sheriff can drum up enough reasons to close a saloon, if he’s a mind to.”

  “The question is,” Rufe Elkins said, “what’s he goin’ to do now that he’s given up his star? He’s liable to sneak around and shoot Gordon and me.”

  “If he goes after anybody,” said Gus, “I expect him to come gunning for Waco and me.”

  “One problem there,” Waco said. “Tomorrow we’ll be on our way to Utah. I reckon we messed things up for you, Lonnie. It might not be safe bringing the wagon into town for supplies.”

  “I think it’ll be safe enough,” said Lonnie. “As soon as we return to the herd, we can harness the teams, load up the ladies, and come back to the mercantile. Tomorrow we’ll be on the Green River Trail again.”

  They returned to the herd and a joyous welcome. Even Wovoka shook their hands, although he wasn’t quite sure what the occasion was.

  “Now,” Lonnie said, “the rest of us are going into town to load the wagon with some of the supplies we’re out of, or nearly out of. I want the six of you to remain here with the herd and horse remuda. Wovoka, scalp anybody that tries to leave.”

  The Indian grinned, a rare thing for him. It was the kind of joke he understood.

  “Stay out of the saloons,” Justin shouted as the wagon rolled away.

  Becky drove the wagon, while Lonnie, Dallas, Dirk, Kirby, and the other three women rode alongside. They reached town without difficulty, with only a few citizens pausing to watch them. Reaching the mercantile, Becky expertly backed the wagon up to the store’s loading dock.

  “Who’s goin’ in?” Dallas asked.

  “We all are,” said Lonnie. “We’re an outfit, and we’re not broke. Just keep in mind we have only so much space in the wagon, and we need to devote most of it to grub to see us through the coming winter.”

  Becky stopped to admire a long dress that had numerous petticoats beneath it, and beneath them, ankle-length pantaloons.

  “What would you do if you saw me in that?” Becky said.

  “Likely not what you’d expect,” said Lonnie. “If I had to fight my way through all of that, I’d probably just forget it.”

  Mindy was nearby, had heard the exchange, and was laughing. Despite their fleeting interest in women’s finery, it was the women who chose the supplies to restock their wagon. They bought all the dried apples the store had in stock, added a barrel of flour, a barrel of meal, five cured hams, and half a dozen sides of bacon.

  “I got fresh eggs,” said the storekeeper.

  “How many?” Becky asked.

  “Seven dozen,” said the merchant.

  “We’ll take them all,” Becky said. “How about coffee beans?”

  “They’re in ten-pound bags,” said the storekeeper, “and I got twenty bags. That’s two hundred pounds.”

  “We’ll take a hundred pounds,” Lonnie said. “We may not have room for all that.”

  “I ain’t settin’ through a High Plains winter without hot coffee,” said Kirby Lowe. “Not even if each of us has to thong a bag of it behind his saddle.”

  “That’s kind of how I feel,” Dallas said, “and I reckon the hombres with the herd will agree. Some things a man just can’t do without.”

  “I hate to say this, as opposed as I am to whiskey,” said Becky, “but we ought to buy another two gallons for snakebite.”

  “Don’t forget the laudanum,” Mindy said. “We only brought one bottle, and you’ve had most of that after the mule bit you.”

  “Damn it,” Becky hissed, “don’t be talking in public about that blasted mule biting me. Having the rest of the outfit know is embarrassing enough.”

  “Good thing you was in the saddle,” said Dallas. “If the critter had chomped down on your behind, you’d have been sleeping standing up.”

  Lonnie, Dallas, and Mindy were laughing. Becky blushed furiously and walked away. It took them more than two hours in the store to replenish their supplies in the wagon. Their departure from town seemed as unnoticed as their arrival.

  The herd of longhorns and the horses were grazing peacefully, and the riders were taking advantage of the occasion. They were relaxed, drinking coffee. Wovoka went to the fire and filled his cup, draining the pot.

  “The hombre that drains the pot has to make the next pot of coffee,” Sandy Orr said.

  “Ugh,” said Wovoka, shaking his head. “Squaw work.”

  “The squaws ain’t likely to be back for a while,” Waco said. “I’ll swallow my pride for as long as it takes to boil some more coffee.”

  Waco emptied the grounds out of the two-gallon granite pot and started for the nearby Rio Grande. Suddenly there was a shot, and Waco stiffened, stumbled backward, and fell on the grassy riverbank. By the time his companions reached him, blood had begun soaking the left side of his shirt just above his gunbelt. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow.

  “I’ll get some mud,” Gus shouted. “We have to stop the bleeding.”

  Sandy Orr, Benjamin Raines, and Elliot Graves quickly removed the bloody shirt, and they looked at one another with tragic eyes. The wound was low down. Suddenly there was the patter of hooves as Wovoka rode east toward the Pecos.

  “Wovoka’s goin’ after the dry-gulching bastard,” said Justin Irwin. “Waco’s hit hard enough to need a doctor, and I’m riding to Santa Fe to find one. I’ll likely see Lonnie and the others there, or meet them on their way back. I’ll tell them what happened. Those of you that ain’t scared to talk to the Almighty, say some words that old Waco will be alive when the doc gets here.”

  Justin kicked his horse into a fast gallop, and by the time he was halfway to town, he could see the approaching wagon, with his comrades riding beside it. Becky reined up, for she had recognized Justin.

  “Dear God,” said Laura, “something’s happened at camp.”

  “Waco’s been bushwhacked,” Justin yelled, reining up in a cloud of dust.

  “How bad?” Lonnie asked.

  “Plenty bad,” said Justin. “Low down, and bleedin’ something awful. Gus and the rest are trying to stop the bleeding with mud. Wovoka’s gone after the yellow coyote that shot him.”

  “What direction?” Lonnie asked.

  “East, toward the Pecos,” said Justin.

  “Dallas,” Lonnie said, “I want you to ride back to Santa Fe with Justin, in case there’s some trouble getting a doc to Waco. Hog-tie him, if you have to. Kirby, I want you and Dirk to accompany the wagon the rest of the way to camp. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I aim to take whatever trail Wovoka’s following. I think I know who we’re looking for, and I can promise you it’ll be his last trail.”

  “Vaya con Dios,” Becky shouted as Lonnie galloped his horse eastward, while Justin and Dallas ro
de toward Santa Fe. Kirby, Dirk, Mindy, Laura, and April rode close to the wagon, while Becky urged the teams to a faster gait.

  “Here comes the wagon!” Gus shouted, as he saw the vehicle and its outriders coming at a gallop.

  “I don’t see Lonnie or Dallas,” said Sandy Orr.

  Becky reined up the teams and all but fell off the wagon box. The rest of the riders were out of their saddles in an instant, hurrying to the blanket-covered Waco. It was Becky who raised the blanket, revealing Waco’s terrible wound. She caught her breath and expelled it with a sob. The wound had begun bleeding again.

  “Mindy,” said Becky desperately, “get me the medicine chest from the wagon. Some of you bring more mud—plenty of mud—from the river.”

  Becky covered the bleeding wound with a slab of mud three inches thick. Over that, to hold it in place, she wrapped a bandage all the way around Waco’s middle.

  “Where’s Lonnie and Dallas?” Benjamin Raines asked.

  “Lonnie sent Dallas back to Santa Fe with Justin,” Dirk McNelly said. “Lonnie’s riding east, hoping to pick up Wovoka’s trail. They’re going to ride down the bushwhacker.”

  “I reckon some of us should have gone after him,” said Elliot Graves, “but Wovoka had already lit out, and it looked like Waco needed all the help he could get.”

  “You did the right thing,” Becky assured him. “Whoever did this won’t get away.”

  Lonnie pushed his horse as hard as he dared, stopping to rest the animal when he had to. Eventually he came upon the wagon tracks that led from the Pecos to the Rio Grande. There were two new sets of horse tracks, one virtually on top of the other, heading east toward the Pecos.

  A few miles ahead, Wovoka rested his horse and rode on. He had his Bowie slipped under his waistband and his fully loaded Colt in his left hand. These whites had treated him as an equal, and now one of them lay dead—or nearly dead—as the result of a cowardly gunman shooting from cover. Ahead, he saw a small cloud of dust, and he urged his tired horse on. The rider ahead of him twisted around in the saddle and fired three times with his six-gun. But the range was too great, and the two horses galloped on. Slowly but surely Wovoka’s horse gained on the weary horse ahead.

  Two or three miles behind, Lonnie heard the three pistol shots and urged his horse to an even faster gait. Finally there was a fourth shot, and all was silence.

  “Damn it,” Lonnie groaned. “Damn it.”

  His own mount was staggering and he dismounted, sparing the animal. Whatever was going to happen already had. Finally, far ahead, there came a horse. Lonnie recognized the horse and Wovoka. As the Indian drew nearer, Lonnie could see that he had a horse on a lead rope. Wovoka reined up and Lonnie went to the led horse. A man lay belly-down over the saddle. Taking him by the hair, Lonnie raised his head and found himself looking into the dead face of former Santa Fe Sheriff Al Singleton.

  “Bueno, Wovoka,” said Lonnie. “You’re one hombre to ride the river with.”

  “Waco my amigo,” Wovoka said. “Kill this cobarde.”*

  *Coward.

  14

  Lonnie and Wovoka rode into camp, Wovoka leading the horse with Singleton’s body.

  “Is that who we think it is?” Kirby Lowe asked.

  “Former Sheriff Al Singleton,” said Lonnie. “Wovoka got to him before I did. How is Waco?”

  “I managed to get the bleeding stopped,” Becky said, “but he’s still in a bad way. He was hit in the side, and the lead’s still in there.”

  “There’s nothing we can do except wait for the doctor,” said Lonnie.

  “It’s a pretty good ride,” Benjamin said. “I just hope he’ll come.”

  “He will,” said Lonnie. “Dallas and Justin will see to that.”

  “We got to do somethin’ with this dead coyote,” Dirk McNelly said. “You aim to take him back to town?”

  “No,” said Lonnie. “He’s no longer a lawman. We’ll bury him here beside the river so the coyotes and buzzards can’t get at him. That’s more than he deserves.”

  “Elliot,” Gus said, “let’s get the shovels from the wagon and start digging the grave.”

  The outfit waited impatiently for almost an hour before a distant cloud of dust rose, marking the return of Dallas, Justin, and a man in a buckboard with a black bag beside him on the seat. Reining up his team, he stepped down from the buck-board. Lonnie was the first to reach him, and the doctor had some hard words to say.

  “I’m tired of being fetched out of town to patch up some bullet-riddled outlaw. I want all of you to know that I’m here under protest.”

  “Sorry to inconvenience you,” said Lonnie, “but we’re not outlaws. We’re Texans, with a herd of Texas cattle on our way to Utah. A bushwhacker shot one of our riders, and it seems he’s in a bad way. I’m Lonnie Kilgore, trail boss.”

  “I am Dr. Bennigan,” the medic said. “Show me to the wounded man.”

  Lonnie led him to the pile of blankets under which Waco rested. The doctor drew back the blankets and removed the huge slab of mud from Waco’s side. The wound immediately began to bleed again.

  “Hot water, and plenty of it,” Dr. Bennigan said. “That lead has to come out.”

  “We got whiskey, Doc, if you need it,” said Dallas.

  Dr. Bennigan said nothing, waiting for the hot water. Laura and April brought two big pots of boiling water.

  “You stay here and assist me,” Bennigan said, pointing to April. “The rest of you stay back out of the way.”

  Timidly, April moved in beside the doctor, while the rest of the outfit gathered a few yards away. Elliot and Gus returned with their shovels, having buried Al Singleton. Almost an hour passed before Dr. Bennigan got to his feet, and when he spoke, there was an urgency in his voice.

  “I got the lead out, but I can’t promise you he’ll make it. He’s lost a lot of blood. I have a small hospital, and it may help his chances if we take him there. At least I can see that he’s free of infection and that the bleeding doesn’t start again.”

  “Take him there, Doctor,” Lonnie said, “and don’t spare any expense. We can pay.”

  “Leave him on those blankets and cover him as best you can,” said Dr. Bennigan. “If you like, some of you can sit with him until he improves or …”

  “He left the sentence unfinished, but they all knew what he meant.

  “We’ve been pards a long time,” Gus said. “I’ll ride in and stay with him tonight.”

  “I’ll be there to take over in the morning,” said Justin.

  “You can count on all of us, Doctor,” Lonnie said. “On behalf of us all, I want to say thanks for coming.”

  Lonnie extended his hand, and instead of shaking Dr. Bennigan’s hand, he placed five double eagles in the surprised medical man’s palm.

  “That’s far too much, and not necessary at this time,” said Dr. Bennigan.

  “Doc,” Lonnie said, “if Waco pulls through, that’s not even half enough.”

  Gus, Dallas, Justin, and Kirby had lifted the blanket-wrapped Waco as gently as they could. It was Gus who spoke to the doctor.

  “Doc, the four of us will ride in with you and help get him into the house.”

  The doctor nodded, mounting to the seat of his buckboard. Lonnie said nothing, knowing that only Gus would remain with the wounded Waco. The buckboard whirled away in a cloud of dust, two of the four men riding on either side of it.

  “He has to live,” said April with a sob. “The Green River range won’t be the same unless we are all there.”

  “We’ll all be there,” Lonnie said, with a confidence he didn’t feel.

  Dallas, Justin, and Kirby soon returned from town.

  “We got Waco there and into the doc’s house,” said Waco. “He said if Waco makes it through tonight, he’ll likely recover. If there’s any change for the worse, he’ll send Gus to let us know.”

  “God, I hope we don’t see Gus tonight,” Justin Irwin said.

  The others remained s
ilent, for Justin had spoken for them all. Afternoon slowly faded to night as a chill wind swept in from the north. Supper was mostly a silent affair. Lonnie and Becky took the first watch, filling in for Gus and Waco. Becky rode beside Lonnie, and despite his reluctance, he was forced to talk to her.

  “Even if Waco lives,” said Becky, “it’ll be a week or two before he can ride. That may hurt our chances of reaching the Green River range ahead of the winter snows. What can we do?”

  “We’ll wait and take our chances with the snow,” Lonnie said irritably. “Don’t you think Waco’s worth it?”

  “You know I do,” said Becky. “I’d spend the winter here and go on in the spring, if it took that long for Waco to heal.”

  “I expect we’ll know something when Gus returns in the morning,” Lonnie said.

  Sante Fe. August 12, 1853.

  Justin Irwin rode out at dawn, prepared to sit with the wounded Waco during the day. Other riders had already volunteered for the next two days and nights, if needed. Reaching town, Justin knocked on the door and was admitted by Dr. Bennigan. The doctor’s eyes were red, as though he’d had little or no sleep. He led Justin into the sickroom, and Gus looked as weary as the doctor.

  “He’s had a bad night,” Dr. Bennigan said. “We’ve given him everything, including whiskey, and he’s had a raging fever. It’s dropped in the last hour, and that could be a good sign.”

  “I’ll watch him today, Doc,” said Justin, “and Dallas Weaver will be here tonight. You need some sleep. Lie down somewhere, and I’ll holler if there’s trouble.”

  “Within the next hour,” Dr. Bennigan said, “if he still has any temperature at all, get some more of that whiskey down him.”

  Gus rode back to camp, and all of the outfit gathered around, looking for some sign that their comrade had survived. Quickly, Gus told them the little that he knew.

  “We couldn’t break his fever,” said Gus, “and we tried everything, including a quart of whiskey. It came down a little this morning before daylight, but the doc said it wasn’t near enough. He aims to see that Waco gets more whiskey every hour until his fever breaks.”