The Green River Trail

by Ralph Compton

  Gus unsaddled his horse and then sank down on his saddle, burying his face in his hands. It seemed so long ago and so far away that he and Waco—neither quite twelve—had wrestled maverick cows out of the Brazos River brakes in south Texas. Silently he did something he had done only once or twice in his life. He prayed.

  “Gus,” said Becky softly, “we saved you some breakfast.”

  “Thanks,” Gus said, “but I don’t feel like eating.”

  “Perhaps some coffee, then,” Becky persisted.

  “Coffee, then,” said Gus.

  Becky brought the tin cup and set it down beside him, but with his head resting on his knees, Gus was asleep.

  “I reckon it’s good news,” Dallas said when noon came and went without Justin riding in. “I’m bettin’ that by tonight Waco will whip that fever.”

  An hour before sundown, Justin still hadn’t returned, and Dallas saddled his horse and headed for town. When he knocked on Dr. Bennigan’s door, it was opened by Justin.

  “His fever broke just a little while after Gus rode back to camp,” said Justin. “The doc is gettin’ a few winks. He’s been up for two nights straight.”

  “Ride on back to camp and take them the news,” Dallas said. “Now that his fever has broken, we might not have to sit with him all the time. But if I’m not back by suppertime, have one of the others ride in to replace me.”

  “I will,” said Justin, “but the doc’s official word is that if Waco gets plenty of rest and good food, he’ll recover.”

  Breakfast was in progress as Justin rode into camp, but all activity ceased as the outfit all gathered around.

  “Waco’s fever broke this morning,” Justin said, “and the doc believes that with plenty of rest and good food, Waco will be all right.”

  That brought some glad shouts from the outfit. There was even a look of relief on the haggard face of Wovoka. They all resumed eating with renewed appetites.

  “Waco’s goin’ to hate it, us losing this much time on the drive,” said Sandy Orr.

  “I hate it, too,” Lonnie said, “but it’s not Waco’s fault. We’ll wait for him as long as we have to.”

  It was still early afternoon when Dallas rode in from town. His horse trotting, there was no evidence of urgency. Dallas dismounted and, before unsaddling his horse, spoke to the gathered outfit.

  “Waco talked to me a while ago and said the hangover from all that whiskey is worse than the gunshot wound. The doc’s wife fed him two bowls of soup. We can visit him a few of us at a time, but we don’t have to set with him.”

  “Did you tell him we got the bastard that shot him?” Lonxnie asked.

  “I told him Wovoka ran down the bushwhacker,” said Dallas. “Waco said he’d marry that Indian, if he wasn’t so damn ugly.”

  The outfit shouted with laughter, Wovoka joining in. After supper, Lonnie brought up something had been bothering him.

  “Tomorrow we’re going to be forced to move upriver. The graze here is gone, and in another day or two, the cows and horses will be racks of bones.”

  “That won’t be a problem,” Dallas said. “We can just move a couple of miles each day until Waco’s on his feet.”

  “It may be more of a problem than you think,” said Gus. “Doc Bennigan told me that to the north of here—the way we’re headed—there’s some almighty big herds of sheep dependin’ on that graze.”

  “Then when we reach the sheep range,” Lonnie said, “we’ll just have to drive beyond it. We’re just passing through, and I can’t see involving ourselves in a range war.”

  The following day, they moved their camp two miles north along the Rio Grande. The graze would be adequate for maybe two days. The outfit took turns riding in to visit the fasthealing Waco. When Lonnie rode in, it was Waco who spoke of the many sheep in the area and of a possible shortage of graze for their cattle and horses.

  “I got to get out of here,” said Waco, “and we got to get far enough north that these damn woolies ain’t a problem. Find Doc and ask him when I’ll be able to get up and out of here.”

  “Two more days,” Dr. Bennigan said, “and even then, no exerting yourself. Break that wound open and start it bleeding, and you’ll have to endure this whole thing all over again, including the whiskey.”

  “I reckon I can’t ride, then,” said Waco.

  “Not on a horse,” Dr. Bennigan said, “but you have a wagon, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” said Waco without enthusiasm, “but it’ll never replace a horse and saddle.”

  “You can always remain here another week until you’re fully healed,” Dr. Bennigan said slyly.

  “Thinkin’ about it,” said Waco, “maybe that wagon seat wouldn’t be so bad, me settin’ there with Becky one day and Mindy the next. Two pretty girls can make a man swallow his pride and like it.”

  On the day the wagon passed the closest to Santa Fe, Becky was at the reins. Gus and Justin accompanied the wagon, and Becky drove into town. Waco was anxiously awaiting them, looking thin and hungry. Becky stepped down from the wagon, while Gus and Justin gave Waco a hand getting aboard.

  “Dr. Bennigan,” Becky said, “Lonnie wants you to have this.”

  She dropped five more double eagles in the surprised doctor’s hand.

  “That’s entirely too much,” said Dr. Bennigan.

  “Take it, and remember us,” Becky said. “We’re Texans, and we look out for people who have proven themselves. You have, and we’re obliged.”

  Mounting the wagon box, she drove away, Gus and Justin trotting their horses alongside the wagon. They soon caught up to the slow-moving herd, and the wagon fell in behind the horse remuda. The outfit waved their hats at Waco, and he, waved back. Instead of riding beside Lonnie, Wovoka turned his horse and rode back to the wagon. Dropping back, Gus allowed the Indian to get close to Waco.

  “Amigo,” said. Wovoka. “Bueno hombre.”

  The Indian extended his right hand, and Waco took it. Wordlessly, Wovoka kicked his horse into a lope, rejoining Lonnie at the head of the herd.

  Come sundown, the drive was twelve miles north of Santa Fe along the Rio Grande.

  “After supper,” Lonnie said, “we’ll have to study that map some. As I recall, we’ll be leaving the Rio Grande tomorrow and following the Rio Chama for a ways.”

  “What are we going to do about that gold we took from them owlhoots that stole it in Santa Fe?” Kirby asked.

  “I haven’t forgotten it,” said Lonnie. “The town will have to appoint another sheriff to serve until next election day. There’s no sign of any storm on the way, and the drive has settled down. In the morning, I’ll choose one of you to ride with me. We’ll load all the gold on a horse and return it to town. If no new sheriff’s been appointed, then maybe we can talk to Judge Guerdon.”

  But before dark, a horseman rode in from the south. On the left pocket of his flannel shirt was a lawman’s star. Reining up, he spoke.

  “I’m Elkin Potts, the new sheriff.”

  “I’m Lonnie Kilgore, trail boss,” said Lonnie. “Step down and I’ll introduce you to the rest of the outfit.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Potts said stiffly. “I came here for some information. Al Singleton and me growed up together, and he was my amigo. I ain’t sayin’ what he done was right, but I want to know what you done with him. I know he rode after you.”

  “He did,” said Lonnie, “and he bushwhacked one of my riders. You’ll find him maybe a dozen miles south on the west bank of the Rio Grande. We buried him.”

  “I’m obliged for that,” Potts said, reining his horse around to depart.

  “One other thing,” said Lonnie. “Before we left the Pecos, we met four hombres heading south. They looked like a bad lot. We figured you’d like to know, in case they’d been up to something here in town.”

  It was an opportune time for Potts to tell them of the stolen gold, if in fact it had been stolen in Santa Fe, but Potts did not. When he spoke, his voice was hard a
nd cold.

  “If there’d been any law work that needed doin’, Al Singleton would of done it. He was a good sheriff, and I reckon he wouldn’t want a bunch of strangers buttin’ into the town’s business. Neither do I, so don’t do us no favors. Just go on the way you’re headed, and don’t none of you come back. You ain’t welcome.”

  He wheeled his horse and rode back the way he had come.

  “Well,” said Dallas, “are you still ridin’ back to Santa Fe in the morning?”

  “I reckon not,” Lonnie said. “I’ve just been told I’m not welcome.”

  “But what about the gold?” Becky asked.

  “It goes with us,” said Lonnie. “If they refuse to claim it, then they don’t get it. Once we’re settled on the Green River range, I’m thinking we can use that money to bring us a herd of those blooded Spanish horses from California. It could become the grandest horse ranch in the West, and it would be jointly owned by us all. Anybody object to that?”

  “Lord, no,” Gus Wilder said, “if you’re sayin’ what I think you’re saying. You would take in Waco, Sandy, Benjamin, Elliot, Justin, and me as pardners?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” said Lonnie, “and I think we’ll have to make plans to include Wovoka. He won’t fool with cows, but I don’t think he’ll feel like horse ranching is for squaws.”

  “Horse bueno” Wovoka said.

  “Nobody objects, then,” said Lonnie.

  “You could have lived a lifetime and never come up with something as grand as that,” Dallas said. “What about it, everybody?”

  There was hand-clapping and shouts of approval. The six cowboys who had hired on for wages shouted the loudest, for they had before them a future that might have been forever denied them in Texas.

  “Now,” said Lonnie, “all of you on the first watch saddle up, and let’s get this night behind us. I want us to move on tomorrow. I can’t believe this acting sheriff would go so far as to try and take revenge, but the sooner we can remove the temptation, the better.”

  After Waco’s replacement on first watch had ridden out, Lonnie brought the big map near the fire. Dallas, Benjamin, Elliot, and Justin gathered around as Lonnie studied the map.

  “My hunkers ain’t back to normal,” said Waco. “I’ll go along with what the rest of you decide needs doing.”

  “I’m beginning to think that following the Rio Grande is more trouble than it’s worth. Tomorrow,” Lonnie said, “we’ll leave the Rio Grande and follow the Chama River for maybe thirty miles. It looks like maybe twenty-five miles after we leave the Chama to the next stretch of water, which is unnamed on this map.”*

  “There,” said Dallas, “we follow the Animas River maybe seventy miles to the north, where it passes Durango, and from there, it looks like maybe seventy-five miles until we reach the confluence of the Animas and the Gunnison. There we should be able to follow the Gunnison all the way to the Colorado. We’ll follow it maybe twenty-five miles and then cross it into eastern Utah. From there we won’t be more than thirty miles south of Willow Creek, which is a runoff from the Green. When we reach Willow Creek, we’re maybe forty miles from home.”

  “You reckon he’s right about them distances, Lonnie?” Dirk McNelly asked.

  “Close, I reckon,” said Lonnie. “We don’t know how accurate this map is, or whether or not we can depend on the scale being right.”

  “Why don’t we add up the total miles, anyway?” Mindy suggested. “I’d like to have an idea as to how far we still have to go.”

  “I’ve been adding,” said Waco, scratching on the ground with a stick. “Looks like we are maybe 220 miles miles out of Durango. From there, it’s 325 miles to our Green River range. From here, we’re still maybe 545 miles away.”

  “My God,” Becky cried, “we’ll never make it ahead of the snow.”

  “We’ll keep to the fast gait,” said Lonnie. “It’s all we can do.”

  The Chama River. August 18, 1853.

  The day dawned clear and hot. By the time the sun was two hours high, horses, cows, and humans were dripping sweat. According to their calculations, they would follow the Chama for thirty miles. Waco was well enough to ride, and took pleasure in being back in the saddle. It was near sundown when Lonnie judged the river deep enough and the graze good enough for their camp.

  “Some of this water across western New Mexico and southwestern Colorado might not be as plentiful as we think,” said Justin Irwin. “From what I’ve heard, water to the High Plains comes mostly from melting snow.”

  “If the map shows a river or creek,” said Lonnie, “I feel sure there’ll be some water.”

  “I don’t feel that sure,” Dallas said, “but I’m hoping. Except for us ridin’ back to Texas from California, we don’t know this territory.”

  “No,” said Lonnie, “we don’t. We’re far enough from Santa Fe for the Paiutes to take notice of us. I’ll have Wovoka ride twenty miles or so each day, looking for any Indian sign.”

  The first watch mounted and rode out. Laura and April rode with Kirby and Dirk. All seemed serene, and the wind from the northwest had a chill bite to it. The rest of the outfit had rolled in their blankets to get what sleep they could before the start of the second watch. When midnight came, the second watch saddled up. Becky joined Lonnie, and Mindy rode with Dallas. So much had happened, there had been little time for conversation. The women had not ridden watch while Becky and Waco had been injured. Now they felt a need to talk.

  “We still have more than five hundred miles ahead of us,” Becky said, “and I’m afraid of what might happen. Either before we reach the Green River range or after we get there.”

  “I think we’re doing right well, taking care of anything that happens along the way,” said Lonnie. “The most troublesome unknown factor is how those Mormons are likely goin’ to object to us movin’ in.”

  “Then whatever happens between here and there, we’ll still have a fight on our hands when we arrive,” Becky said.

  “I expect so,” said Lonnie, “but we’re not ridin’ in with our defenses down. Before we reach our range, I aim for Wovoka and me to have a look around, so we’ll know what we are up against before we ride into the midst of it.”

  “I understand the need for that,” Becky said, “but if they know we’re claiming a large part of the Green River range, how did they find out? Maybe we can move in and settle down before they know we’re coming.”

  “I wish I could believe they don’t know,” said Lonnie, “but there’s a big land map of Utah Territory at Fort Laramie. Every claim that’s been filed for has been marked off. The Mormons may not know who’s coming, but they’ll know somebody is. I wish I could talk to Jim Bridger. He’d have some idea as to what might be about to happen.”

  Mindy was having an equally disturbing conversation with Dallas.

  “I suppose I’m expecting too much of the government and its soldiers, where Indians are concerned,” said Mindy. “There must be thousands and thousands of them. But surely there’s not so many Mormons that they can just take over a territory.”

  “If Bridger was right and they did overrun his trading post,” Dallas said, “I expect the first thing the government will do is force them to give up Bridger’s place. Maybe then the army will help us, but we can’t wait. Someday the frontier will become civilized and the law will say what’s right and what’s wrong. But I doubt any of us will live to see that day. We’ll have to go on stomping our own snakes.”

  Dallas was more right than he knew, for at that moment, Wovoka dismounted near the river. He had heard something. Listening, he heard it again. There was some slight movement within the water that was almost totally drowned out by the gurgle of the river. The moon had set, and there was only starlight. Wovoka drew his Bowie and flattened himself on the ground. Slowly, a man’s head rose above the riverbank. There was little or no disturbance of the water as he climbed out of the river. The stranger wore only a loincloth, and Wovoka grinned in sa
vage glee. It was one of the hated Paiutes! Wovoka drew his Bowie and lunged, but his adversary was, catquick and sidestepped Wovoka’s thrust. The Paiute countered with a thrust of his own, but Wovoka was just out of reach. Like the head of a darting rattler, his blade flashed in the pale starlight, but the Paiute seized his arm, while attempting to thrust his own Bowie into Wovoka’s belly. But Wovoka used his right knee to good advantage. He slammed it into the Paiute’s groin, and with a groan of anguish, he released Wovoka’s arm. Three times Wovoka drove the Bowie into the Paiute’s belly, and he collapsed to move no more.

  “Haaiii,” Wovoka granted.

  Lonnie and the rest of the outfit had heard the brief scuffle on the riverbank and had witnessed Wovoka’s victory.

  “Bueno, Wovoka,” said Lonnie. “The Paiutes know we’re here, and this one was sent to take our measure.”

  “Sí,” Wovoka said, pleased. “Kill Paiute.”

  “I doubt they’ll try anything else tonight,” said Lonnie, “but we’ll strictly have to keep our eyes open until we’re out of their territory. If it hadn’t been for Wovoka’s keen ears, this gent might have stampeded the cows as well as the horse remuda. Wovoka, I’ll want you to ride quite a ways ahead in the morning. The rest of this hombre’s tribe may be closer than we think.”

  “Sí,” Wovoka said, pleased.

  The second watch mounted their horses and again began circling the cattle and horses.

  “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen a man die by the knife,” said Becky in a slightly trembling voice.

  “I’m sorry you had to witness it,” Lonnie said, “but Wovoka did what he had to.”

  “You could have shot the Paiute, helping Wovoka out of a dangerous situation,” said Becky. “Why didn’t you?”

  Lonnie laughed. “Wovoka would have hated my guts. He did battle with an enemy and won, knife against knife. It would have shamed him to have had one of us shoot and kill his opponent. Besides that, there’s the chance a gunshot might have stampeded the herd.”