Bitter Trail and Barbed Wire

by Elmer Kelton

  He had been left to his own devices. When at last he came to that big fork in the road, lacking any sound guidance, he took the wrong one. It was as simple as that. Watching him now, Vern doubted that there would ever be any turning back for Rooster. He had already gone too far down that road.

  Now Vern Wheeler was on the same road, and he wondered what he would do if he found himself trapped on it, unable to turn back.

  He was going to try hard not to be. When they finished this drive, he was going to take his three hundred dollars and run like a scared rabbit. Never again in his life would he lay a hand on an animal that didn’t belong to him, not even if, as he had told himself over and over, he was only taking that which was due him anyway.

  Once more Bronc came riding back. “You two think we got a tea party here? Spread out and drive these cattle, or I’ll take and pistol-whip the both of you when we git where we’re goin’.”

  Rooster jerked his horse away and started yelling at the cattle. Vern let a couple more tired calves drop out. He wondered how many had fallen back since they had started. Thirty or forty. That many calves left to die or go dogied.

  An old cow kept turning, bawling for one of the calves that had stayed behind. The calf tried hard to follow, but his tired, spindly legs barely carried him anymore. Twice Vern choused the cow back into the bunch. The third time she tried to break out, he made sure Bronc wasn’t watching, and let her go.

  One calf saved, anyway.

  He looked back with a glow of self-satisfaction to see the cow smelling the calf in the worried way that only a cow can, and the tired calf butting his head against her bag, getting the milk that meant life to him.

  Then it was that he saw the riders. Two of them broke out over a rise and hauled up, watching the cattle. Vern jerked his horse to a stop and sat frozen. They were so close to him that he could have hit them with a rock. He recognized them both. They were R Cross men he had worked with. And he knew they recognized him.

  Bronc saw them, too. He came riding back fast, leaning down to pull a saddlegun out of its scabbard. The R Cross cowboys saw him coming. One of them started to pull away, but the other held his ground. Pulling out his six-shooter, he fired a long shot that kicked up dust thirty feet from Bronc. The cowboy swung the gun back on Vern. Vern sat stiffly, paralyzed with horror as he realized the cowboy was going to shoot him.

  He saw the flame, and he felt the sudden jar that struck his shoulder with the weight of a sledge. It carried him halfway around and lifted him far out of the saddle. For a second or two he tried desperately to regain his balance. Then he saw the ground coming up. He hit it hard and tasted dirt.

  He was only half conscious of his horse plunging in terror, his hoofs barely missing him, and he realized dully that he had somehow held onto the reins. He let go. The horse jerked free and ran.

  In sudden terror the cattle in the drag turned back and ran, too. The clatter of their hoofs broke past Vern. He lay helpless, waiting to be trampled, and somehow he cared little if it happened. The wounded shoulder had him twisting in agony.

  But he wasn’t trampled. In a moment Rooster rode up, bringing Vern’s horse. He jumped down and knelt beside Vern.

  Somewhere over the rise, the shooting continued.

  “You all right, boy?” Rooster asked. “Think you can ride?”

  Clenching his teeth against the pain, Vern said, “I don’t know.…”

  “You got to, boy. The fat’s really in the fire now.”

  Rooster helped Vern to sit up. Vern’s head reeled. He brought his right hand up to the left shoulder and felt the wound warm and sticky to the touch. The very bone seemed to be afire.

  Vern fell over on his face and was sick. Rooster stuck by him, holding him. Presently Bronc and the other two outlaws came back over the rise.

  “They got away,” Bronc declared, cursing. “Hell of a help you two was.” He jerked his head angrily toward the scattering cattle. “Git out there and git them cattle throwed together. We really got to push ’em now.”

  Rooster hesitated. “Vern’s hit. He can’t take no fast pace.”

  “Then he’ll hafta stay here. He oughtn’t to’ve got hisself shot.”

  When Rooster still held back, Bronc drew his gun. “I said move.”

  Rooster glanced apologetically at Vern. “Sorry, boy,” he said, and mounted his horse.

  For a while Vern sat there unable to move. The other riders drifted away from him and he was alone, sitting in a patch of brittle grass miles and miles from help. He looked up at his horse, which stood calmly now. If he could only get on him … But he knew he lacked the strength. He felt the blood still flowing slowly out between his fingers. Holding his handkerchief over the wound, he had gotten the blood clotted and stopped most of the flow. But a little of it still trickled, slowly draining the life and the hope from him.

  He didn’t know how long it was before Rooster came. His friend rode up in an easy lope, slowing down before he got there so he wouldn’t cause Vern’s horse to jerk away. Rooster jumped to the ground and looked back over his shoulder.

  “Whether you think you can do it or not, boy, you got to get on that horse. Old Bronc’ll be along lookin’ for us directly, and we better not be here.”

  With Rooster’s help, Vern managed to get into the saddle. He would have fallen off again if Rooster hadn’t been there to hold him on.

  Rooster said, “Bronc’ll be back huntin’ me soon’s he finds out I slipped away. But there’s a crick down yonder a ways, and plenty of brush. Maybe we can hide in there. He can’t spend much time lookin’.”

  Rooster holding him, they rode to the creek. Rooster took time to dip up water in his hat and let Vern gulp it down. Then they made their way into a thick tangle of mesquite and catclaw. Vern stayed in the saddle, slumped low over the horn. Rooster stepped to the ground and kept watch. Presently he saw Bronc top out over the hill. Rooster drew the horses deeper into the brush and stood holding his hands over their noses so they wouldn’t nicker to Bronc’s horse. For a little while they could hear Bronc riding up and down the creek, cursing and calling Rooster’s name. Bronc knew they were in there somewhere. Then, because of the urgency of moving the cattle, he gave up and disappeared out over the hill.

  Rooster led the horses into the open. He took another look at Vern’s wound. “You’re fixin’ to get in a bad way, boy, if we don’t get you some help. Hang on, I’m takin’ you home.”

  Painfully Vern shook his head. “No, not home, Rooster. I don’t want to bring the R Cross down on them.”

  “You’ve probably done that anyhow. But have it the way you want it. I think I know another place we can go.”

  Vern nodded dully. “Let’s get started, then.”

  16

  Captain Andrew Rinehart stopped his gray horse in the thick dust left by the running cattle. Somewhere above him he could hear gunshots, and he knew his cowboys had run down the two thieves who had tried to break out over the hill. The third thief lay here on the ground, facedown, his fingers frozen with the last convulsive movement that had made them dig into the dry earth. A greasy black hat lay on the grass, and drying blood was edged out from under the blue wool coat.

  A cowboy stood over him, gun in his hand. The cowboy’s face was white, his hands a-tremble.

  “Take it easy, Shorty,” the captain said calmly. “It’s always hard, the first time.”

  Shorty Willis tried twice and the third time managed to get his gun back into the holster. He licked his dry lips and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead onto his sleeve. “It happened so fast,” he said. “All of a sudden there he was shootin’ at me, and I shot back. Just once.”

  “Don’t let it start eating at you, Shorty, or you’ll carry it with you a long time,” the captain said. “Just remember this, he was a cow thief and he was trying to kill you. You did right.”

  The captain motioned with his chin. “Looks like he’s got a real good gun, Shorty. It’s yours by rights, if you want it.�
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  Shorty drew back, shaking his head. He mounted his horse and turned away from the body which lay there in the dry grass.

  The rest of the cowboys came riding over the hill. The captain nodded in satisfaction as he saw that they had the other two thieves with them, hands tied to the swells of their saddles. They were foolish, he thought, to have kept trying to get away with the cattle after being discovered. Too greedy to let go, apparently.

  “Good work, Archer,” the captain said to Archer Spann.

  Spann explained, “They ran off down there a ways and decided to give up. That one yonder”—he indicated the dead man—“was the only tough one.”

  He looked speculatively at the pair. “There’s a creek over that hill. And some cottonwood trees.”

  The captain said, “No, I think this time we’ll take them in, Archer.”

  “You wouldn’t have in the old days.”

  “The old days are gone,” the captain replied. Then he was suddenly uncomfortable, for he realized that this was the same thing McKelvie had said to him, and Monahan.

  “How about Vern Wheeler?” Spann demanded.

  The captain frowned. He turned to one of the cowboys. “Mixon, are you sure it was the Wheeler kid?”

  Mixon nodded confidently. “I was as close as from here to that bush yonder. It was him all right. And I winged him. I saw him fall. That redheaded Preech kid was along, too. There was five of them, and we only got three here.”

  The captain said, more to himself than to anyone, “I wonder where they could’ve gone.”

  “We all know where they went,” Spann declared. “They hightailed it back to the Wheeler place. Don’t you see it, Captain? All the time you’ve been thinking Noah Wheeler was your friend, he’s been stealing from us. Why do you think he sent the kid over to work on the R Cross? It wasn’t any case of a hungry nester butchering one stray steer. They were moving them out wholesale. No telling how many they got while that kid was at the north line camp.”

  The captain said, “Archer, Noah Wheeler wouldn’t steal from me,” but his voice was beginning to lack conviction.

  Spann argued, “You’re remembering how he used to be in the war, Captain. But that’s been a long time ago, and men change. He’s used your friendship and dealt you a bad hand all along. I’ve tried to tell you, and now you can see it for yourself.”

  The captain’s head was bowed. He was tugging at his gray beard, and a tinge of red showed along his cheekbone. Spann could tell that he was wavering.

  “Now,” Spann said, “maybe you’ll let us do what I’ve been trying to get you to do all along. We can put a stop to Noah Wheeler and that fence once and for all, if you’ll just give me the go-ahead.”

  Rinehart still hesitated.

  Spann said, “Captain, it’s your choice, but you’ve got to make it now. It’s either you or Wheeler. Which one is it going to be?”

  Captain Rinehart closed his eyes a moment. Then he stiffened. He raised his chin, and he was the same iron-hard old soldier he had always been. He had made his decision.

  “We’ll do it your way, Archer.”

  * * *

  SARAH RINEHART WAS horrified. She stood stiffly in the doorway, watching the captain strap his old cartridge belt around his waist and fill it with shiny brass cartridges that winked with the light.

  “Andrew, you’re making a terrible mistake!”

  He never looked up at her. “The mistake I made was in waiting.”

  She folded her thin arms. A strength showed in her determined face that hadn’t been there in a long time. “If it hadn’t been for Noah Wheeler, you wouldn’t be here today. He’s been your friend. Are you forgetting that?”

  “He’s forgotten it, I haven’t.”

  “Perhaps Mixon was right about the Wheeler boy. It doesn’t prove that his father had anything to do with it.”

  “Everything adds up, Sarah.” Impatience grew in his voice.

  “Archer Spann has told you it does. To me, it doesn’t. I don’t believe it. I won’t ever believe it unless I hear it from Noah Wheeler himself.”

  “You can stop arguing with me, Sarah. My mind’s made up.”

  There was ice in her voice. “Then so is mine, Andrew. You’re making a mistake today that’s going to wreck you. If I can’t stop you, then I don’t want to be here to see it.”

  Rinehart stopped and stared incredulously at her. “What do you mean?”

  “This isn’t the place it used to be, Andrew. Once it was a happy place, and I loved it. But it’s changed. You’ve changed. And do you know when it started? When Archer Spann came. You think you run this ranch, Andrew, but you don’t, not anymore. Spann does. He makes you think they’re all your ideas, but he plants them and sees that they grow.

  “He’s ruining you, Andrew. In fighting Wheeler and those small men with their fence, you’re riding a dead horse. If you raid Noah Wheeler, the whole world will fall in around you because you’re wrong—dead wrong!

  “I’ve thought a lot lately about leaving. I’ve thought I might go to Fort Worth, where I wouldn’t have to hear about Archer Spann, and wouldn’t have to watch you wreck the R Cross because of him.”

  The captain’s voice was dull with shock. “Sarah, the trip would be too much for you. You might never make it.”

  Firmly she said, “I can try. If you leave here today, I’ll get Charley Globe to drive me to town. When I’ve rested up, I’ll take the stage to Stringtown and catch the train. It’s up to you, Andrew.”

  For a long time he stood there staring at her, not knowing whether to believe her or not. He could hear the thud of hoofs outside as the men gathered from the line camps. Spann had even sent for Fuller Quinn’s men.

  The captain motioned toward the window. “You see all that, Sarah? It’s too late now for me to stop it, even if I wanted to. And I don’t want to. We’re going through with it.”

  Sarah Rinehart’s lips tightened. For a moment her eyes misted, then she drew herself up and blinked them clear. “Very well, Andrew.”

  She stood stiffly, listening to him stamp out of the house. When he was gone, the stiffness went out of her. She sat wearily in her favorite rocking chair and listened to the sound of horses and men in the big yard below.

  As the horsemen left, she called to the Mexican woman who cared for her. “Josefa,” she said, “go see if Charley Globe went with them. If he didn’t, tell him I want to see him.”

  * * *

  NOT FAR FROM the Wheeler place, Spann raised his hand and drew up. He turned and looked back over his men. Sixteen of them. It wasn’t as many as he had figured on. He’d been sure of Fuller Quinn, and Quinn had let him down.

  Scowling darkly, Quinn had said, “The first time you suckered me in, I spent all the next day with a shovel in my hands. The second time, they throwed my tail in the hoosegow. This time you can go to hell.”

  Nor was Quinn his only disappointment. Something was chewing on the captain. Spann had been able to see that ever since they had left the headquarters ranch. Something between the captain and his wife, Spann knew. The captain had been visibly shaken as he had walked out of the house.

  Spann wondered why a strong man like the captain ever let a woman influence him as Sarah Rinehart did. That was the trouble with women, as Spann saw it. They were always interfering in man’s business, trying to run things that were better left up to a man.

  “Bodie,” Spann said, “I want you to take four men and hit that fence. Don’t get close enough to get hurt. Hunt out some cover and snipe at them. Draw them all away from the house and the barns. When it’s clear there, the rest of us will charge down from the other end and set everything afire.”

  “What about the fence?” Bodie asked. “We’ll never be able to touch it if we draw that bunch down on us.”

  “You won’t have to. If we can stop Noah Wheeler—burn him out—we’ll automatically stop the fence.”

  Bodie nodded, satisfied. Spann pulled a watch out of his pocket. �
�You got a watch?” he asked. When Bodie said yes, Spann told him, “Give us an hour to make a wide circle. Then go on in.” He told off the four men who were to go with Bodie. “Don’t get close enough to get hurt,” he warned them again. “If you have to retreat some, fine. Main thing is to draw them away from the headquarters till we’ve had time to do our job.”

  He pulled away then, and his men started their circle.

  They reached their point in a little less than an hour and drew up there to wait. Most of the men smoked quietly. They were nervous, and he could tell that some of them didn’t like it.

  Shorty Willis was the main one. “We’re makin’ a mistake, Spann. Them’s good people down there.”

  “If you don’t want to go with us, Shorty, then ride out. But you’re through in this country. You’ll never get another job anywhere around here.”

  Shorty ignored Spann. He pulled his horse up beside the captain, who had been riding along silently on his big gray, his gaunt old face creased with worries of his own. “Captain, you know this is wrong. Even if Vern was helpin’ steal them cattle, he mebbe thought he had a good reason.”

  The captain peered intently at Shorty. “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve heard the story about that three hundred dollars, ain’t you? Spann says it’s a lie, but Vern told me about it that day Monahan had us fixin’ the fence. He talked like a man tellin’ the truth.”

  Spann felt a momentary surge of panic. The captain was listening to Shorty. Damn that boy and his three hundred dollars! They’d brought Spann nothing but trouble.

  “Shorty,” Spann blurted, “there’s no truth in it! You’re fired!”

  The captain raised his hand. “I’ll do the firing. Just what was it the Wheeler boy said?”

  Shorty started telling it, and Spann felt his mouth go dry. He could see that the captain was wavering. The old man didn’t want to go through with this thing, that was apparent. Now he was looking desperately for some reason to call it off.