A River of Horns

by Peter Grant

  All went well until the third wagon hit deep water. It was halfway across when a heavy log, floating low in the water, came downstream with the faster current in mid-river and slammed into its rear wheel. The impact turned it from its course, lifting the near side and pushing down the off. A sudden crack! gave evidence that at least one axle hub had broken under the immense sideways strain of resisting the impact and the pressure of the current. The off side of the vehicle sagged, and water poured over the top of the wagon bed as it tilted.

  Shouts and curses from the cowhands pulling it across could not prevent the wagon from sinking lower in the water, as the sandy bottom gave way beneath the combined force of its weight and the tug of the current. They tried desperately to pull it into the shallows, but the wagon tipped over and fell on its side, to the accompaniment of more cracking from its timbers. Much of its load was held in place by its lashings, but some barrels and sacks came loose and floated downstream.

  Jess volleyed orders to everyone within hearing. “ALL HANDS TO THE WAGON! Get ropes on the side and pull it upright! Mike, Frank, Doyle, get after them driftin’ supplies an’ catch what you can.”

  More cowhands splashed into the water to help. With herculean efforts, they and their horses dragged the waterlogged wagon into shallower water and hauled it back onto its wheels. They didn’t restrain their curses as the sounds of still more cracking wood greeted their efforts. The teamster re-spanned its oxen to pull it ashore, inspected it carefully, then shook his head. “The rear wheel’s spokes are bust where that log hit them. Both axle bearings on the off side have cracked, what with bein’ shoved sideways against the mud like that, an’ the frame beneath the load bed is cracked as well. It’s too much for us to fix all the way out here, with no wagonmaker on hand.”

  Jess seethed inwardly, but didn’t say anything until he felt he could control his temper. At last he said, “It can’t be helped. Get the last two wagons over, then we’ll see how much of this one’s load can be salvaged.” He glanced downstream, where the three cowhands he’d ordered to catch the drifting supplies were returning. They’d used their ropes to lasso some of the barrels, but others had drifted away while they were retrieving them. “Tow those barrels ashore and put ’em next to this wagon for now.”

  By the time the last wagons were brought safely across the Brazos, the sun was setting. Jess had the men unload the damaged wagon, but decided to hold further salvage work until morning. His announcement that they would stay where they were for a day’s layover was greeted with profane gratitude by the weary hands.

  The morning light revealed that the damage to the wagon was as bad as the teamster had feared. Every opened barrel and all the sacks of dried food had been soaked by the water. However, all the boxes of canned food, and the sealed barrels, were still intact. They were dried in the sun, relabeled if necessary, then loaded aboard the other freight wagons. The teamsters were vocally thankful that Walt had under-loaded all of them, which made it easy to redistribute the freight in such an emergency.

  Finally, the damaged wagon was stripped of everything that might prove useful, then all of its wood was broken up, to add to the firewood collected by the hands along the river. Each freight wagon was loaded with as much wood as possible, larger logs in the load bed, smaller pieces in the ‘possum belly’ cowhide stretched beneath it. The defunct wagon’s oxen would be driven along next to the wagons, for use as spare draft animals if needed.

  “We got off lightly,” Jess reminded the hands as they ate supper that night. “Some of us might’ve been killed or hurt gettin’ that wagon out, or we might’ve lost more of its cargo. You all worked real hard an’ did real well, and I’m thankin’ you. Got some more good news for you, too.”

  “Can we stand it?” a cowhand wondered, not quite beneath his breath. The others laughed.

  “This looks like a real good place to rest the herd. We were the first to leave, so we’re well ahead o’ the others, even though we already took a week’s break earlier. They could use a chance to catch up with us. There’s plenty o’ grass here, and the river’s at our backs. I reckon we’ll lay over here for a week before we move on. Rest up tomorrow. Make sure you dry your leather gear, and then put a thick coat o’ dubbin on it, to soak in well.” Silently he blessed Walt Ames for putting a barrel of dubbin in every supply wagon. What with constant wetting and drying due to rain, rivers and sweat, it was proving essential to keep their leather in good condition on so long a journey.

  He went on, “Once everything’s dry, I want groups o’ you to go out along the river every day, roundin’ up mavericks and road-branding ’em for us. If you find some real thick brush, we’ll try the blood call again. Collect more driftwood for the fire while you’re at it. While you’re doin’ that, I’ll send the scouts to pick out our best route from here, and find out from Fort Griffin – they’re the closest Army station, I reckon – what’s goin’ on in the Panhandle. We’ll pass on the news to Tyler when we’ve got it.”

  Tyler had moved his floating outfit into a central position between the five herds of cattle, communicating with all of them through their scouts, keeping track of their progress. He was therefore not surprised to see a scout from Jess’ herd approaching. He was, however, surprised at the man’s state of exhaustion, and his horse’s, too.

  “What is it, man?” Tyler demanded as he caught and steadied him, dreading that it might be more bad news. He offered his water-bottle, which the rider accepted eagerly.

  As soon as he’d slaked his thirst and recovered his breath to some extent, the scout began his report. “First off, Jess took another week’s break after crossin’ the Salt Fork o’ the Brazos. He warns the water’s still high there right now, so the other herds might do well to wait until it drops afore they cross. We lost one wagon – no-one hurt, though. While they were restin’ the cattle, he sent the crew out to look for mavericks. They’ve found over three hundred so far. He reckons, if the other herds take a break at the Brazos an’ look around for a few days, they might do as well again.”

  Tyler cheered up at once. “We lost over seven hundred outta the fourth herd to a stampede, so that’s real good to hear! I’ll pass it on.”

  “The other news is even more important, boss. It’s why I’ve been runnin’ so hard to reach you. Jess sent me to Fort Griffin, to get the latest news about the Injun war. Quanah Parker an’ his Comanches surrendered at Fort Sill a few weeks back. The fightin’s as good as over. What’s more, the Army’s settin’ up its first post in the Panhandle. At the moment it’s just called the ‘Cantonment on the Sweetwater’, but it’ll get a real name soon. There’s a couple hundred cavalry and infantry there, and they’ll build a proper fort over the next few years. It’ll guard the western edge o’ the Indian Nations, to stop ’em breakin’ out into the Panhandle again.”

  Tyler slapped his thigh as a grin broke across his face. “That’s great! That place is sure an’ certain to become a town, as well as a fort. It’ll be the first settled area in the eastern Panhandle. We gotta make sure we find a ranch site not too far from it, so patrols from the fort will cover our area every week or two. It’ll help keep us safe. D’you know where it is?”

  “It’s on Sweetwater Creek. I can show you on the map.”

  “Good. Stay with us, an’ rest yourself an’ your hosses a couple days before you head back. I’m gonna send one o’ my floatin’ outfit to Fort Griffin tomorrow, with a long telegraph message to Walt Ames. He needs to know about this right away. I’ll ask him to send the next lot o’ freight wagons to meet us there. They’ll be safe under Army protection.”

  11

  August 1875

  Walt was working in his office at the freight yard when Tyler’s telegraph message arrived. He read it, then sat for a moment, thinking hard. Tyler was right. This would change the whole situation in the Panhandle. The new Army fort would provide a secure base for surveyors charting the new territory, and also most likely be the nucleus for a new town.

>   He called Samson and showed him the message. The big man read it, and grinned. “That’s where we should put the branch office of Ames Transport, suh – right there outside the fort. We can compete for the Army’s freight, as well as the town’s as it grows. I reckon, inside a year or two, there’ll be upwards of a hundred people livin’ there or nearby, an’ they’re gonna have to bring in by wagon everything they want.”

  “That’s what I thought. The nearest railhead is Dodge City in Kansas, a couple hundred miles away, more or less – half the distance from here. What do you think of a branch office there, too, to take orders delivered by rail, repackage them, and send them down to the Panhandle?”

  Samson thought for a moment. “Makes sense. We’ve already got, what, thirty wagons down there? We can keep some in the Panhandle, and move others to Dodge, and have a shuttle service.”

  “Twenty-nine wagons, now – Tyler’s men lost one at a river crossing. Still, it was one of those we got cheaply in La Junta, so we ain’t lost much. Big question now is, what do we do about a warehouse and bunkhouse in the new town, and another in Dodge? I reckon we can buy a warehouse in Dodge, or have one built for us, but in the Panhandle there are no buildings yet, or merchants to sell us what we need, or builders to put it up.”

  Samson shook his head. “Tell you what, suh. We don’t need both warehouses at the old freight yard. Why don’t you have the rest of our ox-wagon teamsters take the smaller warehouse apart, slow and careful? We can label the parts, and ship the whole thing south in our own wagons. When it gets there, our teamsters can rebuild it, with the help o’ those already down there. For the first few months they can live in it, layin’ their bedrolls on straw along the walls, or even building a loft in the rafters for themselves. By the time the warehouse fills up with freight, they’ll have built a proper bunkhouse.”

  “That’s a darned good idea! We’ve already paid for all the wood an’ fittings, so that’ll save a lot o’ money. I’ll have to see how many ox-wagons we’ll need to carry it all, though. We may have to make more’n one trip back an’ forth.”

  “Well, it ain’t as if we’re usin’ them for anything else right now.” Both men chuckled. “Who’re you going to put in as branch manager down there?”

  “We need one in the Panhandle, and one in Dodge City. I’m thinkin’ that former sergeant, Dan Simmons, and Sam Davis. They can decide who gets what depot.”

  Samson nodded. “Both are good choices. I’ll call ’em in.”

  The two men listened as Walt outlined the plan. “It’s a promotion for both of you,” he concluded. “I’ll pay you a hundred dollars a month, plus free accommodation in our bunkhouses there – you can build in a private room or two for yourselves.”

  Sam rubbed his hands together. “Sounds great! Deal me in, boss.”

  Dan hesitated. “Will the branches make enough money for us to earn that sort o’ pay, boss?”

  “Not at first,” Walt admitted. “I’m lookin’ to both of you to hustle up trade and build our business at your branches. I’ll carry the costs for the first six months or so. By then I’ll expect to see a couple o’ freight contracts with outsiders, over an’ above the Circle CAR. I reckon the Army’ll need freight taken to an’ from its new fort on the Sweetwater. Since both o’ you were soldiers, you’ll know how best to handle that.

  “More people will move in soon enough to start businesses in the town nearby, an’ ranches, too. They’ll also need to have goods shipped in. I reckon we’ll be the first transport outfit to operate there, so we should get most o’ their business. We’ll charge one dollar per hundred pounds per hundred miles for summer freight rates. In winter, we’ll have to see, but it’ll be more. The Circle CAR will be charged ten per cent less.”

  A slow smile spread over Dan’s face. “D’you want to make real sure you get the Army’s business, suh?”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Iffen you get the officers an’ men at the new fort on your side, they’ll fight for you to get their freight contract. How about sendin’ down, say, half a wagonload o’ things the Army won’t give ’em, but they’d love to have?”

  Sam sat forward eagerly. “He’s right, boss! F’r instance, the men really like canned condensed milk, an’ canned fruit – peaches, apples, that sort o’ thing; but the Army don’t issue it. Most soldiers only get hash, stew, baked beans, bacon, hardtack an’ bread. Iffen they want better, they got to buy it themselves from the sutler’s store, at real high prices. If you send down enough to give each soldier a Christmas treat – say, a can o’ condensed milk an’ a can o’ fruit for each man – I’ll be danged if they won’t fall in love with you.”

  Samson laughed. “So all the stories about soldiers are true, are they?” He ducked as his grinning audience pretended to swipe at him.

  “Sam’s right,” Dan said seriously. “Also, it’ll be comin’ on winter by the time our wagons get down there. How about a pair o’ warm gloves or mittens for every man, an’ some thick warm socks, an’ mebbe a knitted neck-warmer? They’ll bless you for ’em. For the NCO’s and officers, you could send more o’ the same, plus some things for their clubs – a case o’ good whiskey, or more canned goods, somethin’ to make ’em feel special. They won’t have their families with them until the fort’s built. They’ll be cold an’ lonely on their first Christmas in a new outpost. We can show ’em that we appreciate ’em. Once they know that, they’ll do their best to see we get all their business, an’ then some. They’ll spread the word about Ames Transport all over the eastern Panhandle, and to other Army posts, too.”

  “We’ll do it,” Walt decided. “I reckon we can fit all that into a wagon, an’ more besides. Only thing is, whichever of you goes to the Panhandle is gonna have to ride herd on that wagon like it’s your very own baby. Every teamster is gonna want to sneak out a can or two whenever they feel like a treat, to say nothin’ o’ the whiskey. We can’t have that.”

  “I reckon we can do that, suh,” Dan agreed, and Sam nodded.

  “All right. Which of you wants to go to the Panhandle, and which to Dodge City?”

  Sam looked at Dan. “I’m partial to the Panhandle. I don’t like big towns much. How about you?”

  “Iffen you’re happy with that, I’ll tackle Dodge. We’ll be workin’ together hand in glove, anyway. We can allus swap places if we want a change.”

  “You sure can,” Samson agreed. “I’ll start both o’ you workin’ alongside me right away, to show you how we organize freight in and out, an’ keep our records, an’ bill customers. You’ll pick it up soon enough. Meanwhile, boss, I guess you’ll take care o’ buyin’ more supplies, an’ tearin’ down the warehouse and loadin’ it, an’ all the rest?”

  “I will,” Walt confirmed, and told the new branch managers about the building he’d be sending to the Panhandle. “Dan, we’ll look for a warehouse an’ bunkhouse in Dodge, or have ’em built for us.”

  “Got it, boss.”

  Sam asked, “Did you hear any more from Tyler about how the fightin’ in the Panhandle ended, boss? Were a lot more hosses killed?”

  Walt knew he was thinking of Nastas and his reactions to the massacre of captured Indian horses, after what men were already calling the Battle of Palo Duro Canyon. “I haven’t heard, but I’m sure there were,” he said with a sigh.

  “I heard from a friend o’ mine in the cavalry,” Dan told them soberly. “He reckoned the Army captured summat over 7,000 horses an’ mules over the past year. Most of ’em were wore out, thanks to the Army pushin’ the Injuns non-stop, never givin’ them a chance to rest. They shot most of them because they were in such poor condition. They only kept those they needed to replace their own losses in the field, plus some they gave to Injun scouts. Because o’ that, even though they captured so many, they’re still gonna have to buy more remounts later this year.”

  Walt winced. “I think we won’t tell Nastas about that,” he said firmly. “It’d send him into a decline again. I’m h
oping he’ll come back to the ranch next year, and carry on workin’ with us.”

  Sam nodded fervently. “Let’s hope he never does hear it, boss. We don’t want him blamin’ all whites for what the Army had to do. He knows better about us, o’ course, but inside he won’t be able to help think that.”

  “You’re right. Let’s keep that number to ourselves.”

  Walt made a mental note to write to Pablo with the news. If he had advance warning that the Army would need more remounts, he could make plans to get them from Mexico before anyone else. However, next year he’d have to find a new market, because with the end of the Indian wars in Texas, the Army’s remount needs would be much smaller.

  That night, Walt told Colleen about the latest developments. Her eyes glinted with amusement as he described Dan’s plan to effectively bribe the Army into supporting them.

  “I’d say he has a bright future with us, if he can think that quickly,” she said with a smile. “D’you think he and Sam will make good branch managers?”

  “As good as anyone else we’ve got, and better when it comes to dealing with the Army. I reckon they’ll make mistakes, but Samson and I did, too, when we got started. They’ll learn, an’ grow into their jobs.”

  “Will there be enough trade to keep our wagons and teamsters busy?”

  “I reckon so. At first we’ll be runnin’ supplies and building materials to the ranch. Remember, Tyler agreed that Ames Transport will get all his business. We’ll also have to build a bunkhouse down there. I’m considerin’ cutting all the planks and beams we an’ Tyler will need from our new land, higher up in the Wet Mountain Valley. There’s a thousand acres of trees there that need clearin’. A lot of it’s lodgepole pine an’ quakin’ aspen, which we’ll use for pole barn uprights an’ fencing. There’s also a big stand o’ ponderosa pine, which makes good planks. I’ll move our steam sawmill up there right away with a work crew. They can cut as much as they can before winter, and stack it to season, and send all the offcuts down to the ranch for firewood. It’ll cost a lot more to ship it to the Panhandle from here than from Dodge City, because we’re twice as far away, but we’ll charge less for the lumber, just enough to break even, so it’ll balance out. The main thing is, that’ll provide work for our ox-wagons and income for Ames Transport all next year. It’ll help make up for the cost of settin’ up the new branches.”