A River of Horns

by Peter Grant

  Lieutenant Thompson took Sam aside two days later, as the column moved over the prairie in pursuit of another group of Indians. “What’s goin’ on with your Navajos?” he asked bluntly. “Ever since the canyon fight, they’ve been sullen and withdrawn. They haven’t been anywhere near as effective as they were at first. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s the hosses, Lieutenant,” Sam tried to explain. “They’re real close to them. They don’t treat them as tools, the way we do; they’re almost part of the tribal family. They make medicine dances for them; they even sing to them. To see all those hundreds o’ hosses shot down like that… it’s really shaken them up. They don’t understand how we could treat their sacred animal that way.”

  The Lieutenant sighed. “If that’s how they see horses, then I guess that would have been very hard for them. Trouble is, they’re no use to us like this. I’ll talk to Colonel Mackenzie and see what he says.”

  He returned within a few hours. “The Colonel says, if they aren’t able to perform their duties, we should send them back. He understands what you said about how they see horses, but the Army can’t change its tactics to suit them. We’ve got to grind these Comanches and Kiowas down until they can no longer exist off the reservation, and that means we’re going to confiscate or kill every horse and mule we capture from them. If we have to set both tribes completely afoot, we’ll do that. Better for the Navajo if they don’t have to see that, he says.”

  “I guess he’s right, Lieutenant. I’m sorry. I hate to think we’ve let you down.”

  Thompson smiled sadly. “You haven’t, Sam. You did your job. The Navajo didn’t, either – up to the canyon fight, they did just fine. I guess it’s just that they’ve run into a whole new way of waging war, and they can’t adjust to it. Tonight, we’ll tell them they can head for home, and pay them off. It’s only a month or so early, anyway. We would have had to release them at the end of October, due to the Colonel’s agreement with Mr. Ames to have them home by winter.”

  Sam offered to let Nastas take his four Navajos straight home to New Mexico, but the Indian shook his head heavily. “No, my brother. Let us return to the horse ranch. There are more of us there, and besides, it is close to Blanca Peak. My brothers and I will go there when we get back, to tell our ancestors about what we have seen, and hear whatever they can tell us about such a tragedy. It is a deep sadness in all our hearts.”

  They rode back through Fort Union and Taos to avoid the combat area. They arrived at the ranch in the last week of October. Walt was not there, but Nastas refused to ride into Pueblo to see him. “Let us go to Blanca Peak first,” he insisted. “This is too much for us to endure. We must speak with the spirits about it, and find a way forward. I shall see señor Walt when we return.”

  Sam watched all the Navajo, the five scouts and those who had remained at the ranch, ride south the next morning, heading for their sacred mountain about twenty-five miles to the south-west; then he then turned his horse towards Pueblo. He rode slowly, thinking about all he’d seen and experienced during the scouting mission, trying to put his thoughts into some semblance of order. He took three days to cover the sixty miles, camping out each night despite the cold fall weather, sitting solitary before a fire and pondering.

  “I dunno how to put this, boss,” he began when he reported to Walt at the freight depot. “The killing of those hosses… it’s really hit the Navajo hard. You know how they relate to their horses, right?”

  “I sure do,” Walt agreed, a frown of concern on his face. “It’s like they’re not complete without them.”

  “That’s a real good way to put it, but it’s not just them – it’s their whole tribe. Seems to me they look at themselves and their hosses as a single thing, a body. Takin’ away their hosses would be like cuttin’ off an arm and a leg from the whole Navajo nation. They’d be crippled. Seein’ that happen to another tribe, even one that isn’t so bound up with their hosses… it did something to them.”

  Walt thought for a moment. “It may be worse for Nastas and his people than for ordinary Navajo, of course. After all, he breeds horses, and I saw how he reacted to the estancia’s breeding herd when we first came across them in Mexico earlier this year. When did he say he’d get back to the ranch?”

  “He reckoned to be there by the end of this week. His men have to gather up their horses an’ belongings, then they’re heading for home before the deep snows block the passes.”

  “Thanks for warning me. I’ll ride out there to speak with him before he leaves, and see if there’s anything I can do.”

  Nastas would not talk about what he and his comrades had done at Blanca Peak when they returned to the Rafter A. They were silent, still withdrawn as they made their preparations for departure. However, he did consent to sit with Walt one evening and try to explain.

  “It is very hard to put into words for someone who is not one of us,” he admitted. “So much of what we feel is in our hearts, not our heads. There are no words for it.”

  “I guess so,” Walt acknowledged, and told him of Sam’s comparison of horses as being an arm and a leg of the entire Navajo nation.

  Nastas nodded approvingly. “Sam lived with us for more than a year, and rode the scouting trail with us for the Army. He has learned enough about us to understand this. Yes, he is right. If our horses were slaughtered like that, it would be as if our entire people had been crippled – but not just in body. It would be as if a part of our soul had been ripped from us as well.”

  “Do all Navajo feel that way, or do you feel it more than most of your people, because you’re a horse breeder?”

  “I feel it more than most,” Nastas admitted. “After seeing the slaughter, I could not help but imagine the estancia horses you gave me being massacred like that. Even the thought brought tears to my eyes. They are like my own children to me.”

  “I guess,” Walt agreed with a sigh. “I’d sure feel like that if my breedin’ herd here were all killed for no good reason. I guess most of the estancia workers who came here with us would feel the same. What will you do now?”

  “I shall take my people back to our homes on your friend Isom’s rancho. I think we shall not come back here next year, but concentrate on working with our own herd, while we continue to think and pray about what we have seen. Perhaps the year after that, we will return with more breeding stock to swap with you, and so enrich both our herds.”

  “That works for me.” Walt extended his hand. “You’re always welcome here. Take any supplies you need for the journey home.”

  “Thank you, my brother.” They clasped hand to wrist in the warrior’s grasp. “Do not think I blame you for what your Army did. I know you are not that kind of man.”

  “No, I ain’t – and thank God for that!”

  4

  October 1874

  Tyler Reese sat his horse to one side, next to a group of cattle buyers, as the herd was thinned and pushed between two men making a final trail count. Their eyes flickered from one beast to the next, tying a knot in the cords they held as they reached each hundredth animal. They expanded every tenth knot into a loop.

  As the last steer passed between them and headed for the loading pens, the two tallymen turned their horses and came over to the group. The buyer’s representative reached them first. “I make it three thousand, two hundred sixteen head, Mr. Garfield.”

  His boss nodded as Tyler’s segundo came up. “And you, Mr. Manning?”

  Jess Manning had not heard the buyer’s rep, but answered confidently, “Three thousand, two hundred and seventeen.”

  “That’s one more than my man counted.”

  Jess chuckled, turning to his fellow tallyman. “I know where you missed one. You were countin’ the horns and dividin’ by two, weren’t you?” Everybody laughed at the old saw. “You musta missed one o’ the muleys. There were several steers with no horns.”

  “Huh! I bet you were countin’ the legs and dividin’ by four. You must’ve mistaken a few thre
e-legged cattle for four-legged.” More laughter.

  “I think we can accept Mr. Manning’s count,” Garfield said with a smile. “One head more or less won’t break the bank.” He glanced at Tyler. “I’m surprised you still have some muleys. Most herds try to eat them on the way north, because they can’t defend themselves against steers with horns, and get bullied all the time. Makes for trouble.”

  “Yeah, but this herd had more muleys than usual.” Turning to the buyers, Tyler said, “You’ve all seen the cattle. They’re in prime shape. Have at it.”

  The bidding was brisk for a few moments as the cattle buyers vied with each other. It slowed as the price rose above fifteen dollars, and eventually stopped at sixteen dollars and fifty cents. Tyler sighed, and shook his head. “It’s a whole lot less than I’d have liked, but this year’s been all messed up, hasn’t it?”

  A buyer nodded in sympathy. “The financial panic last year, and the banking crash that followed, made this real tough for all of us. Cattle prices aren’t the only ones that are way down. Still, things are improving. Maybe next year we’ll be back to normal.”

  “Let’s hope so! The owners need the money, so I can’t hold them on open range through the winter, hopin’ for better prices next year. All right, Mr. Garfield. At sixteen-fifty, you’ve bought my herd.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Reese. I’ll meet you at First Bank in half an hour.”

  “I’ll be there. I’d like twelve thousand, five hundred of that in cash, please.”

  “I’ll draw that, and pay the rest in the form of a bearer draft.”

  “Thanks.”

  As the buyers turned their horses back towards Dodge City, Jess Manning grinned at his boss. “You did all right on this drive. We started with three thousand, one hundred eighty-nine head. You’ve lost some crossin’ rivers or in stampedes, fed us beef all the way north, and still you’ve arrived with twenty-eight more head than when we left Texas.”

  Tyler stretched wearily in his saddle. “That’s why I keep on remindin’ all o’ you, all the time, to keep your eyes open for mavericks. If it’s a branded cow with an unbranded calf, we leave ’em alone, but we slap our road mark on any unbranded adult, and add it to the herd. The hands found more’n usual this trip, which is nice for me. I get the value o’ the extra animals, ’cause we only contracted to deliver to Dodge the number we left with. That’ll help pay for some more horses to take to New Mexico next year.”

  “Think we’ll find many unbranded stock on our way from New Mexico to the Panhandle?”

  “I dunno. There ain’t many spreads out there yet, but it’s possible cows might have strayed out to west Texas from the east and center o’ the state, or come up from Mexico, or drifted that way from earlier trail drives. If they’ve bred, and if we’re lucky, we might find more’n a few unbranded head.”

  “I’ll drink to that – or, at least, I’ll drink to it once you’ve paid us.”

  Tyler laughed. “Yeah. Get the boys into town, and tell the Long Branch Saloon I want to use their back room to pay everybody. I’ll meet you all there in an hour.”

  He met the buyer at the bank, signed the bill of sale, and accepted cash and a bank draft for its full value. They shook hands. “See you again at the start of next season,” Garfield said as he rose to leave.

  “Not next year. I’ll be busy settin’ up a new ranch. I’ll bring cattle to Dodge in early ’76, if all goes well – mebbe the first few herds of the season, if plans work out.”

  The buyer’s eyebrows rose. “I wish you luck. I’ll be lookin’ for you.”

  Tyler changed some of the cash from large to small bills, then scribbled calculations on the back of a deposit slip. He’d contracted to deliver cattle from half a dozen small ranches to Dodge City, for a fee per head of two dollars, plus one dollar each to cover expenses other than wages. That meant he was owed a total of nine thousand, five hundred and sixty-seven dollars, plus four hundred and sixty-two dollars for the twenty-eight extra head he’d brought to Dodge City. He took that out of the cash, and deposited five and a half thousand of it into the Circle CAR account he and Walt had opened at Wells, Fargo. On top of earlier deposits, that boosted his contribution to their joint venture to thirty thousand dollars, as agreed. The same amount from Walt was already there. The rest of the money went into his own account.

  He headed for the Long Branch saloon, where he paid out almost all the remainder of the twelve and a half thousand dollars as wages to the trail drive crew. His men accepted their money with pleased smiles, and a few loud comments about the hell they planned to raise with it, drawing laughter.

  When everyone had been paid, Tyler led the way to the bar and, as was expected of him, called loudly, “Drinks on the house!” He tossed money on the bar. There was a rush as eager townsfolk joined the cowhands in demanding whiskey from the hard-working bartenders, tossing it back with coughs and splutters as the raw spirit bit into their throats. Free drinks didn’t come from the best bottles.

  The formalities over, Tyler bought a top-shelf bottle of whiskey and adjourned to a table with his segundo and two glasses. They poured, sipped, sighed, and relaxed.

  “What did the wagonmaker say about the chuckwagon?” Tyler asked.

  Jess grimaced. “The cook says the main beam beneath the bed is finished. Our field repair was good enough to get it here, but only just. The wagonmaker told him it wasn’t worth fixin’.”

  “He’s prob’ly right. That’s a farm wagon we bought back in ’68. It’s plumb wore out after more’n a dozen trail drives. We’ll sell its metal parts to the wagonmaker, and burn the rest. We’ll sell the mule team an’ harness, too. They’ll fetch good prices.”

  “What about chuckwagons to take to New Mexico?”

  “Good thing you reminded me about ’em. I’ve got two left, but they’re both old an’ worn-out, too. I’ll ask Walt if he can provide some through Ames Transport, along with the supply wagons. What about the hands? Did you pass the word to those we want?”

  “Yeah. They’re willin’ to take on, but they want wages from the day we leave Gainesville. They don’t want to ride all the way across Texas to New Mexico on their own dime.”

  Tyler and Jesse had put their heads together to select the best of the hands from the current drive, just as they had on their previous drives during this year’s season. However, such top cowhands knew they were in demand, and they could afford to be choosy.

  “Can’t blame them, o’ course,” Tyler acknowledged, “but for a hundred hands, that’ll cost us more’n three thousand dollars before we’ve bought a single cow. We’ll have spent three times that in wages before all the cattle are on their way north. We can’t afford that.”

  “Boss, if you want good hands, you’re gonna have to. There’s too many others who’re willing to hire ’em at top wages for next year’s trail drive season.”

  “Yeah, that’s a problem. I may have to take the best thirty or forty hands with me, then hire more locally and fire any who don’t measure up. We can try to hire youngsters who’ll learn their trade as we move north.”

  Jess shook his head emphatically. “Bad idea, boss. Youngsters won’t have all the gear they need, ’specially a cowhand’s saddle. A good’n costs more’n a month’s pay. If we have to buy what they need, even payin’ lower wages, it’ll cost as much as hirin’ better hands who already have all they need. Besides, the young’ns won’t be as good as our top hands. It’s takin’ a big risk.”

  Tyler sighed. “You’re right, dammit! I’ll have to talk it over with Walt. He ain’t gonna be happy. I hope he can save money in other areas, to make up for the extra cost.”

  “Hope so.” The segundo sat silent for a moment, then said, “You remember what you was sayin’ about mavericks?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How about this? Let’s take our hundred hands west to New Mexico. Once we’re clear of the ranches in central Texas, let’s spread out in a sweep and look for unbranded stock across the western par
t of the state. If the critters are there, top hands’ll find ’em if anyone can; and if there’s as many as there might be, they may gather enough to cover their wages until we can buy the rest of our cattle and put them on the trail.”

  Tyler sat bolt upright with excitement. “Damned if you ain’t right! With a hundred hands, we can cover a big swath o’ territory. We’ll search on either side o’ the big south Texas rivers, the Pecos an’ the Colorado, savin’ the northern rivers for the drive to the Panhandle. There’ll be brush there, where steers like to hole up. If they’re there, we’ll flush ’em out.”

  Jess nodded. “The Goodnight-Loving Trail runs along the Pecos from south Texas into New Mexico, swingin’ up to Fort Sumner. Lots o’ herds have taken it since it was first used, back in ’66. It’s likely they all lost a few cattle here an’ there. I bet we’ll find ’em, and those born to ’em, if we look hard enough, and if others ain’t found ’em afore us.”

  “Yeah. I’ll get some Circle CAR brandin’ irons made up afore we leave. We’ll gather cattle for a few days, then bring together what we’ve found and take a day to brand ’em all, then do it again. We’ll have to take my old chuckwagons with us, plus a couple more for bedrolls an’ baggage. We’ll fix ’em up for one last drive to New Mexico. They’ll slow us down a bit, but we’ll move slower anyway if we’re gatherin’ a herd o’ mavericks. We’ll leave a few weeks early to make up for it. That’s a fine idea, Jess! If it works, I’ll see you get a real nice bonus out of it.”

  The other grinned. “Thanks, boss. What’re you gonna do with your ranch?”

  “The TR? I’ll lease out my land to my neighbors for grazin’ next year. I’ve already sold my cattle, so there’ll be plenty o’ grass for them.”

  “And once the Circle CAR is up an’ runnin’? Will you sell the TR?”