“I think we’d better get a slug of that whiskey down Bud before he comes to,” Cal said. “He’ll hurt like hell for a while.”
Jasmine brought a bottle of whiskey from the chuck wagon, pulling the cork with her teeth. Cal and Tom each took one of Bud’s arms, raising him enough so that they might get the whiskey down him. Curley seized his hair, holding his head back, while Lorna got as much of the vile brew down him as she could.
“Now,” said Curley, “do we put him back in the wagon?”
“No,” Cal said, “but I think we’ll move him to the shady side of it. He’ll go through enough misery without the heat of the sun on his wounds.”
Quickenpaugh hunkered by the fire, his thoughts seemingly lost in the flames. Jasmine placed her hand on his shoulder, and seeming startled, he got hurriedly to his feet.
“Quickenpaugh,” said Jasmine, “from the bottom of my heart, thank you. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”
“Grub,” Quickenpaugh said. “Much hungry.”
The outfit desperately needed to laugh, and they did. Jasmine, Lorna and Curley got breakfast under way, and there was hot coffee within a few minutes. The women were able to talk among themselves, and it was Curley who had misgivings, should Bud recover.
“After all Quickenpaugh’s done,” said Curley, “I hope Bud makes it. Maybe I deserve him cussing me, but if he jumps on Quickenpaugh again, there’ll be hell to pay. I promise you that.”
“Then you’ll have to get to him ahead of me,” Jasmine said. “Quickenpaugh didn’t have to do what he did, and many a white man in his position wouldn’t have.”
The outfit took its time over breakfast, for the cattle and horses were within sight, and all seemed well. McDaniels had been moved so that he rested in the shadow of the chuck wagon. Once an hour, Jasmine, Lorna or Curley knelt beside him to see if his raging fever had begun to break. He rewarded them with a drunken snore, and not until the late afternoon was there a change in his condition.
“Bud’s sweating,” Jasmine announced.
“Bueno,” said Cal. “Oscar, you’ve had some doctoring experience. Take a look at him and see what you think.”
“He be goin’ to live,” Oscar Fentress said, after examining McDaniels. “ ’Nother week or two, maybe, he ride.”
“Well, I hope he can make do in the wagon considerably before then,” said Tom Allen. “We should have been halfway to Deadwood by now.”
ALONG THE POWDER RIVER, WYOMING TERRITORY.
MARCH 25, 1876
Benton McCaleb’s Lone Star outfit had gathered for supper. Far to the west, there was unmistakable evidence that another storm was brewing.
“Just what we need,” said Pen Rhodes. “More snow.”
“I’ve about decided we began this drive too early,” McCaleb said, “but there’s no help for it now. We’ll sit out the storm and then move on.”
Goose, the Lipan Apache, had ridden north along the Powder looking for Indian sign. He rode in, dismounted and unsaddled his horse. Only then did he speak.
“No sign,” said Goose. “No Sioux.”
“Damn it, that bothers me more than if they were all around us,” Brazos said. “We’re in the heart of their old hunting grounds. Where are they?”
“In Dakota Territory,” said McCaleb. “Red Cloud’s concerned with those thousands of miners who have invaded the Black Hills, in violation of the Treaty of 1868.”
“We don’t have a map,” Susannah said. “How do we know where we are, and how far we still must go?”
“I have a general idea,” said McCaleb. “We follow the Powder River north, until it forks to the south. There we leave the Powder, driving northeast.”*
“Then we have no idea where we’ll find water, once we leave the Powder,” Will Elliot said.
“No,” said McCaleb, “but Goose will be scouting ahead of the drive, for available water and Indian sign.”
Far to the west, the sun set behind a bank of gray clouds, feathering the horizon with crimson.
“Snow come,” Goose said. “I find shelter.”
“Bueno,” said McCaleb. “We’ll get an early start tomorrow and push the herd as hard as we can.”
“In all the years I’ve known you, McCaleb, you’ve never sent me to scout ahead,” said Monte Nance. “It’s always that damn Indian.”
“Damn Indian no like you,” Goose said, his dark eyes on Monte.
“That’s enough,” said McCaleb. “Goose is our scout, because he’s better at it than any of the rest of us.”
That might have ended it, if Penelope hadn’t laughed. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and ignoring Rosalie’s attempts to get her attention, she spoke.
“With Monte scouting, we’d all end up in Texas, or maybe Mexico.”
“She’s always talkin’ down to me,” Monte shouted. “She’s never been taught respect for her elders.”
“Monte Nance,” Penelope said, “you’re older than me, but you’re not my elder. I can do anything on a horse you can do, and I can do it better. You swagger about with two guns, and I can outdraw you, myself.”
“Penelope,” said Rosalie, “that’s more than enough. I forbid you to say another word.”
Obeying her mother, Penelope said no more, but the damage had been done. With the exception of Monte Nance, the rest of the riders were grinning. The girl had just put into words what most of them suspected. Monte Nance turned several shades of red. Getting to his feet, he stomped off into the gathering darkness.
“Time for the first watch,” McCaleb said. “Brazos, take Pen, Jed and Stoney with you. Penelope, if you aim to stand watch, take the first.”
“That leaves you a mite short-handed on the second watch,” said Brazos. “There’s Will and Goose, and you don’t know if you can depend on Monte or not.”
“If he chooses not to ride with us, we’ll manage without him,” McCaleb said.
“He’ll be there,” said Rebecca. “He’s my kin, and I’ll talk some sense into him.”
“No,” McCaleb said. “He’s counting on you standing up for him, whatever he does, and that’s going to stop, beginning right now. When we reach Deadwood and sell the herd, I think we should decide whether or not Monte Nance is to remain part of Lone Star. The way I’m feeling now, I’d vote against it.”
When the riders on the first watch had saddled their horses and begun circling the herd, McCaleb sought out Rebecca.
“He’s your only kin,” said McCaleb, “and I know how you feel, but he’ll never stand on his hind legs like a man as long as he’s leaning on you.”
“After he left us and took that sheriff’s job in Miles City, I thought he had grown up,” Rebecca said.*
“So did I,” said McCaleb, “but I think we can agree that he’s fallen far short of it.”
“He needs a wife,” Rebecca said, “but there’s not a single woman within a hundred miles of our Lone Star range.”
“Except Penelope,” said McCaleb.
“My God,” Rebecca cried, “do you think he . . . ?”
“I do,” said McCaleb. “The more she taunts him, the more distant she seems, the more determined he’ll be to have her.”
“Bent, that must not happen,” Rebecca said. “Brazos would kill him.”
“Only if he gets to Monte ahead of me,” said McCaleb.
“I’m going to talk to him,” Rebecca said. “Perhaps I can quiet him down until we reach Deadwood and dispose of the herd.”
McCaleb sighed. “Go ahead, but don’t make it easy for him. He should know that once we reach Deadwood, the outfit will decide whether he stays or goes, and how he conducts himself between now and then will have considerable to do with the decision.”
“I’ll tell him,” said Rebecca. “I don’t believe he wants to leave us. Even the Prodigal Son learned his lesson.”
“Good luck,” McCaleb said. “I hope your patience and confidence is rewarded. Now I’ll have to get some sleep, if I’m going to. The second watch isn�
��t that far off.”
On the first watch, Penelope was having her problems. Despite all her efforts to avoid Brazos, he seemed to be
following her. When she reined up to rest her horse, Brazos was there. Finally—exasperated—she wheeled her horse to face him.
“You’ve been following me ever since the start of the first watch,” said Penelope. “You don’t trust me, do you?”
“Not entirely,” Brazos said. “Monte Nance is hunkered out here somewhere.”
“You don’t think that I would—”
“For the moment, I’m not going to answer that,” said Brazos. “Instead, I’m going to tell you the story of an hombre and a woman who seemed to hate one another even more than you and Monte. His name is Benton McCaleb, and hers was Rebecca Nance.”
“I don’t know if I can believe that,” Penelope said.
“Sometime when McCaleb’s not around, ask Rebecca,” said Brazos. “When Will, Bent and me first rode into the Trinity River brakes to rope wild longhorns, old York Nance—daddy to Monte and Rebecca—was making and selling whiskey to the Comanches. First time we laid eyes on Monte, he pulled a gun on Bent and McCaleb wounded him. Rebecca came on the run, and they had the damnedest, knock-down-and-drag-out fight you ever saw, right on the bank of the Trinity River.. McCaleb hoisted her up, kicking and screaming all the while, and threw her into the river.”*
“Oh,” Penelope said, “that must have been something.”
“It was,” said Brazos, “but it was only the start. McCaleb and Rebecca fought all the time. Even after the Comanches killed old York Nance, and the only hope Rebecca and Monte had was to join our trail drive with Goodnight.”
“I hope that’s the truth,” Penelope said, “because I’m going to ask Rebecca.”
“Do that,” said Brazos. “It’s gospel. Then you’ll know why you and Monte hating each other makes me so nervous.”
They mounted their horses and again began circling the herd, unaware that Monte had been crouched only a few feet away, listening to their talk . . .
When the second watch began at midnight, Monte Nance was there. Saying nothing, he saddled his horse, riding out with McCaleb, Will and Goose. Nobody spoke to him during the watch except Rebecca. McCaleb, Will and Goose carefully avoided them, and not until the following morning before breakfast did McCaleb get a chance to talk to Rebecca.
“I talked to him, Bent,” said Rebecca, “and I just don’t know why he’s like he is. He’s envious of Goose, because of your trust in him, and I think he really and truly hates Penelope. I told him, unless he mends his ways between here and Deadwood, he’ll be voted out of our Lone Star outfit.”
“I hope you also warned him about messing with Penelope,” McCaleb said. “He ought to know that Brazos will kill him, and that if Brazos fails to, then I will.”
“I told him that, in almost your exact words,” said Rebecca, “and he laughed. He said he wouldn’t do anything to Penelope she didn’t want done, and that he’s not afraid of you or Brazos.”
“Damn,” McCaleb said.
“This is his last chance,” said Rebecca, “so don’t hesitate to do what you must. Not on my account, anyway. Once, while we were in Texas, I caught him with a naked squaw. He said some things to me then that I’ve forgiven, but I’ve never forgotten. He still has a lot of growing up to do, and God only knows if he’s capable of it.”
*Two Guns
*Near what is the present-day town of Livingston, Montana, the Yellowstone flows south into northwestern Wyoming and into what is now Yellowstone National Park.
†The Virginia City Trail (Trail Drive #7)
*Two knives
*Near the present-day town of Sussex, Wyoming
*The Western Trail (Trail Drive #2)
*The Goodnight Trail (Trail Drive #1)
5
YELLOWSTONE RIVER, MONTANA TERRITORY.
MARCH 26, 1876
“STORM BUILDIN’,” MAC WITHERS predicted.
“Yes,” said Cal, “and it looks like we’ll have to make the best of it right here.”
Nobody said anything, for they all well understood the reason for their prolonged stay at the Yellowstone. While Bud McDaniels was conscious and much improved, he still was in no condition to travel, according to Oscar Fentress.
“I reckon we’d better start snakin’ in some logs for firewood,” Tom Allen said.
“Good thinking,” said Cal. “That storm may get here sooner than we expect.”
“I’ll need some help,” Tom said. “Arch, Hitch and Mac?”
The trio joined him, and the four went to saddle their horses.
“I’m sorry we’ve been delayed here so long,” said Jasmine.
“No fault of yours,” Cal said. “I just hope that when Bud comes to his senses, he won’t be so unreasonable and hard to get along with. When you figure he’s able, will you talk to him?”
“Yes,” said Jasmine. “I’m tired of him playing off me because I’m his sister. He needs to know that he’s alive because of Quickenpaugh’s concern and fast thinking.”
“If there’s any hope for him, that will make a difference,” Cal said. “Do you suppose Curley’s feelings toward him have changed?”
“Curley’s very forgiving,” said Jasmine, “but most of their problems have been Bud’s fault. He has a chance to win Curley back, but only if he comes out of this changed and repentant. One more foolish move, and they’re finished.”
Tom Allen and his companions snaked in their first load of wood. Cal took an axe and began chopping a log down to firewood size. He was quickly joined by Oscar Fentress, Smokey Ellison and Quanah Taylor.
“I’ll spell one of you, when you’re tired,” said Bill Petty.
By noon, the heavy gray clouds had begun rolling in. The riders had already staked down the canvas the outfit had been using for windbreaks, and there was a growing pile of firewood. Quickenpaugh watched all the activity with amusement, considering it “squaw work” and considerably beneath his dignity. Jasmine went to the chuck wagon to see how Bud was faring, and found him awake. He had twisted himself around so that he was able to see out the rear of the wagon.
“How do you feel?” Jasmine asked.
“Like I’ve had a hundred branding irons slapped on my behind,” said McDaniels. “What have you done to me?”
“We tried everything we knew,” Jasmine said, “but we couldn’t get rid of the poison. If it hadn’t been for Quickenpaugh cauterizing your wound with fire, you’d be dead.”
When the implication of what Jasmine had just said got through to McDaniels, he let his head drop, burying his face in his arms. When he finally looked her in the eyes and spoke, Jasmine was amazed at what he had to say.
“This is goin’ to take some getting used to. He had every reason to want me dead, and now I owe him my life. What’n thunder am I goin’ to do?”
“That’s entirely up to you,” said Jasmine, “but I think you ought to shake his hand and treat him like a brother, if he’ll allow it.”
“I must have been out of my head,” Bud said. “Once I . . . I thought Curley was here.”
“Curley was, from the time Quickenpaugh finished with you until we were sure you were going to live,” said Jasmine.
“God knows I don’t deserve her,” Bud said.
“No,” said Jasmine bluntly, “you don’t. Curley’s very forgiving, but she’s human, and doesn’t like being hurt. Any more of your abuse and cursing, and she’ll wash her hands of you forever. And so will I.”
“I’ll talk to Curley and Quickenpaugh,” Bud said, “but not lying on my belly like some kind of lizard, with my behind bare. I want to get on my feet. Where are we?”
“Still at the Yellowstone,” said Jasmine. “Cal didn’t believe you should be moved.”
“Well, hell,” Bud growled, “and I’ve bitched the longest and loudest about this trail drive taking so long.”
“You have,” said Jasmine, “and I’d suggest you not say a
nything more about it.”
“I hear all the axes goin’,” Bud said. “Is there a storm coming?”
“Yes,” said Jasmine. “Everybody’s snaking in and cutting wood. I think before night, you’ll have to leave the wagon and come to one of the fires. The wind’s getting colder all the time.”
“Then help me get my boots on,” Bud said. “I reckon I’ll have to cover myself with a blanket, but at least I can walk like a man.”
It was difficult, belly-down, turning himself around in the narrow confines of the chuck wagon, but McDaniels managed it. Getting his boots on was next to impossible, but Jasmine struggled with them until the task was done.
“Before you join the rest of us at the fire,” said Jasmine, “you ought to mend a few fences, if you can.”
“Oh, God,” Bud groaned. “Where do I start?”
“With Curley,” said Jasmine. “How you treat her, and whether or not she believes you, will make you or break you with the outfit. Do you want to talk to her now?”
“Yeah,” Bud said, “but how do I tell her that I . . . I’m sorry?”
“Don’t get fancy,” said Jasmine. “Tell her you’ve been a damn fool, and ask her to forgive you.”
McDaniels sighed, and Jasmine went in search of Curley.
The Deadwood Trail Page 8
