The Ellsworth Trail

by Ralph Compton

  It was a long ride, past a long line of cattle all bunched up like people waiting in a queue to board a ferry that would take them across the river high and dry. And where was he going? Jock wondered. And what would he do when he got there? What would he say to Abel? What would Abel say to him?

  Thunder boomed softly in the distance and the heavy black clouds seemed to press down on him as Jock swung wide, away from the herd. He knew now what he was going to do. He rode well south and then doubled back at a place where he figured Abel had already passed. He wanted to come up behind him, perhaps catch him unawares before either of them made a mistake they both would regret for the rest of their lives. He was looking for tracks, tracks of a horse among the maze of hoofprints. The light was dim and the way uncertain.

  But it was something he had to do. It was something he hoped would straighten out some of those twists and turns in his and his brother’s lives.

  Jock prayed, then—prayed that he could find the tracks on this blackest of all days.

  He prayed that he could find his way in the darkness of that somber day.

  Chapter 27

  Jock saw it as a tiny flicker of light in a pool of darkness.

  A campfire.

  The night had come on so subtly that he had not noticed it at first, until his eyes began to burn from trying to see the tracks. He had found them, almost miraculously, among the myriad of cattle and horse tracks that marked the progress of the passing herd. They were the freshest and, to his experienced eye, they stood out among all the others. Abel’s tracks. Tracks made by a horse Jock knew. A horse with a peculiar gait. A horse that dragged his right hind hoof like a tentative brake when it was tired and wanted to stop and rest.

  The campfire was an encouraging sight. It meant that Abel had stopped and made camp for the night. He would be there. And perhaps he would not be expecting company.

  Jock rode very slowly as he drew closer to the small, blazing fire. He could smell meat cooking. He did not roll or light a cigarette, though his nerves demanded that comfort.

  He slowed his horse even more when he made out Abel’s silhouette by the dancing flames of the fire. Abel’s back was to him. He sat facing north and he held a stick in his hand that was skewered into a chunk of calf meat. Jock could smell the calf’s entrails, the tang of spilled blood, the aroma of blood-wet cowhide.

  “Got enough grub for two?” Jock asked, startling his brother.

  Abel dropped the skewered meat into the fire and picked up his rifle, which was leaning against his saddle, close at hand.

  “Put the rifle down, Abel. You won’t need it.”

  Abel turned and looked up at his brother. Jock held his own rifle and it was leveled at Abel’s chest.

  “You going to shoot me, Jock?”

  “No. I came to talk.”

  “Talk? What about?”

  “About you and me. I’ve got coffee in my saddlebags. It would go good with that beef you’re cooking.”

  Abel set his rifle back down, leaning it against his overturned saddle. Jock slid his own back in its sheath.

  “Light down, then,” Abel said, a sullen tone to his voice. He picked up the stick and lifted the cooking meat from the fire. “I got enough calf meat for both of us, I reckon.”

  Jock swung down, ground-tied his horse to a creosote bush and walked over to the fire, then squatted down to face his brother. He carried a tin of coffee, a pot, two tin cups and his canteen.

  “Coffee would be good,” Abel said. “I ain’t had none for weeks.”

  “I’ll set the pot on to boil.”

  The two men sized each other up and Jock rolled a cigarette, which brought a faint smile to Abel’s lips.

  “Want me to roll you one, Abel?”

  “I wouldn’t mind. I can roll it myself. I run out of tobacco two days ago.”

  “I think we’ve both run out of a lot of things,” Jock said.

  “Huh?”

  “Words, for one thing. Apologies. Explanations. The past. People we loved and cared about.”

  “You want me to apologize?” There was a hostile edge to Abel’s tone of voice.

  Jock pulled out the makings and slid two papers out of their packet. He shook his head.

  “No, Abel. The other way around. I don’t blame you for Twyla’s death. She had a bad heart. She could have gone at any time. We both knew that. Doc Ford told us both that much.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurry it none, Jock.”

  Jock filled the papers with tobacco.

  “I know. Look, it was a tough situation and it’s happened before. Two men want the same woman. We were way out on the ranch, away from town. Liquor works funny things on a man’s mind sometimes. I’m sorry Twyla died, but I don’t blame you.”

  “You don’t?” Abel looked genuinely aghast, with his jaw dropped and his mouth gaping open.

  Jock handed a paper with tobacco to Abel, unfolded. Abel rolled it up and licked the edge to seal it. Jock did the same with his cigarette. Then he pulled a flaming faggot from the fire and lit Abel’s quirly, then his own. The two men smoked in the ensuing silence.

  “No, Abel, I don’t. You can’t brand a man for life because of one mistake, or just one thing he might have done.”

  “I didn’t know you felt that way, Jock. I made a mistake. I’m still sorry about it.”

  Jock waved a hand in the air as if to wipe away Abel’s guilt.

  “I know you are. It’s gone, Abel. Forgotten.”

  “Maybe I should do the same with my friends, Randy and D.F.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You killed them, Jock. My best friends. I’m still mourning for them.”

  “I didn’t kill them, Abel. Curt Torgerson killed them. Sure as he sent them to kill X8 hands, he sent them to their deaths.”

  “I come to kill you, Jock.”

  Jock blew a thin stream of smoke out of the side of his mouth and looked down at the ground.

  “I figured as much, Abel. Now you have to ask yourself a question.”

  “What’s that?”

  “When I came up on you a little while ago, you had your back to me. I had my rifle in my hand, cocked and ready. I could have shot you in the back and nobody would have been the wiser.”

  “Why didn’t you, Jock?”

  “Then Torgerson would have had another notch on his gun without ever dirtying his hands.”

  “You put it that way, I guess I see your point.”

  “Those boys, Randy and D.F., they didn’t know any better, living the way they did. But you were brought up different. You know right from wrong. You’re young and you have your whole life ahead of you. It would be a shame if you died like they did, way before your time.”

  “Like Twyla,” Abel mused.

  “No, it was Twyla’s time. In fact, she was living on a lot of it she borrowed. But you have your health and your youth. You know, the folks left that ranch in Del Rio to both of us. To you and me.”

  “What? I didn’t know that. I thought they gave it to you because you were the oldest.”

  “Not so. Half of it’s yours, Abel. If you want it.”

  Abel smoked and shook his head, his mind teeming with new thoughts.

  “I don’t really deserve it, Jock. You worked it. I just ran around with those boys and got into trouble.”

  “Think about this, Abel. I lost everything I have. This drive is a new chance for me. It can be a new start for you, too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Chad’s made me a pretty good offer if I bring this herd into Ellsworth ahead of Torgerson. It means we can build our own ranch. You can find a girl and get married. Maybe I’ll even marry again. There’s plenty of room for both of us. You finish this drive with me and we’ll be brothers again. Partners, too.”

  Abel thought about Jock’s offer. Then he grinned and stretched out a hand.

  “I’ll ride with you, Jock. You won’t be disappointed, either.”

  They shook ha
nds.

  “Coffee’s boiling,” Jock said. “Are we going to eat or sit around jawing all night?”

  Both men grinned and shook hands again.

  “Damn, Jock. I had you figured all wrong. I thought you were going to kill me for . . .”

  “A man shouldn’t fight when his temper’s flaring like the morning sun,” Jock said. “He should give it some thought first. I’ve had a lot of miles to think back on what happened, and I was wrong to run you off like that.”

  “I was wrong in wanting to take Twyla against her will. I had too much whiskey in me.”

  “Let’s see how we both work with patches on us, Abel. Ride with me to Ellsworth and see if life doesn’t change for you and me.”

  “I’ll do it,” Abel said, and started cutting up the meat while Jock poured hot coffee into the two tin cups.

  They were a week getting across the Sabine because it did rain again, but from then on the herd moved slowly and deliberately up the trail. Everyone was surprised to see Abel join the X8 hands, but Chad was grateful, for he was a good hand and more than earned his pay.

  They crossed the Red, the most formidable river of all, and lost a few head, but Chad was both pleased and relieved to put that river behind him.

  When the herd finally reached Ellsworth, he was surprised to find out that the townsfolk viewed him as a hero. The people cheered when they saw the huge herd fan out on the plain. Buyers rushed up to make offers and men slapped him on the back, then took him to fancy dinners with wine and champagne and expensive cigars to curry his favor.

  But Chad was unable to eat the fine foods and he did not drink the wine or champagne. In fact, he did not imbibe any strong spirits whatsoever. For, shortly after they reached Ellsworth, Chad doubled over in pain and Jock took him to see a sawbones, who examined Chad and then read him chapter and verse. Chad was told that unless he changed his diet, he was going to die. The doctor told Chad he could not eat fried foods for six months, and prescribed a diet of boiled chicken, soft fruit, and plenty of dairy. Chad grumbled, but his health immediately began to improve.

  Chad sold the herd to the eastern consortium that had originally approached him. They paid him a dollar a head more than the agreed-upon price. The drovers shared in the excitement and there were plenty of glitter gals to go around.

  After Chad paid Jock and the men off, he met the stage and greeted his wife, Rachael, and his daughter, Victoria. While Victoria was glad to see Jock, her eyes were on Abel. And Abel, for his part, was smitten on the spot.

  Jock found Lou Quist in one of the saloons, his head wreathed in cigar smoke, a girl in his lap. Jock handed him a sheaf of greenbacks.

  “That’s what I figure I owe you, Lou. With interest. I paid off the others who lost out on my drive, too.”

  Quist stood, and the girl bumped onto the bench in the booth with a startled look on her face.

  “I had you figured wrong, Jock. Thanks. You’re a good man to ride the river with, you know?”

  “So are you, Lou.”

  Later, they heard that Torgerson had lost a third of his herd crossing the Red. He had tried to beat Mother Nature and Mother Nature had won. The river had been swollen when he started his herd across and the undercurrent swept cattle away like leaves in a windstorm. They also herd that a Kansas farmer had him thrown in jail for a month, and by the time Torgerson got out, more of his herd had vanished, and not a few had been slaughtered by irate farmers who blamed Texans for the tick disease that decimated their own domestic herds.

  When Torgerson finally reached Ellsworth, the price for Texas longhorns had dropped and he barely made expenses. He got drunk and was thrown in jail there, too, and was all alone after his men rode back to Texas without him.

  “I’m going to split the money Chad gave me with you, Abel,” Jock told his brother. “But I won’t give it to you until we get back home to Del Rio.”

  “Why? Afraid I’ll spend it?”

  “Frankly, I’m afraid someone will steal it from you.”

  “Well, that’s fine with me, Jock. I figure we’ll put our money in one basket anyway, and rebuild our ranch. That’s what I want to do with my share, anyway.”

  “Brother, you’ve grown up,” Jock said.

  “I’ve got plans. With Vicky, I mean.”

  “Vicky?”

  “Victoria. We’ve been spooning, Jock. When I get back I’m going to ask her to marry me. Once we get the ranch going and all.”

  “That’s fine, Abel. She’ll make a good wife.”

  “And I’ll make her a good husband, too.”

  Abel was grinning.

  “Yes, you will,” Jock said. “I know you will.”

  Jock rolled a cigarette, lit it and let it dangle from his mouth. The smoke stung his eyes, but Abel knew that wasn’t the reason his brother had tears running down his face.

  “What are you bawling for, Jock? Don’t tell me it’s the smoke.”

  “No, it’s not,” Jock said. “I’m just real happy, that’s all.”

  “Happy about what?”

  “I’ve just seen my baby brother grow up to be a man,” Jock said, and turned away, embarrassed and choked up, ashamed to be seen crying openly in public.

  Then Abel started to cry, sniffling and wiping his eyes, trying to quell the rush of tears.

  “What in hell are you crying about?” Jock asked.

  “I’m happy, too, Jock.”

  “About Vicky?”

  “Yes, but about you, mostly. I’m glad I found a brother I thought I had lost forever. Damn, I’m a real happy man.”

  And so were they both, Jock and Abel, and they would become even closer on the long ride back to Texas, with Chad, Rachael and Victoria for company along the way.