North to the Salt Fork

by Ralph Compton

  Chapter 14

  Lucy made a striking bride. Her hair was pinned up. The white silk dress would have done well at a Washington D.C. gala. Jack couldn’t recall seeing as many red faces at once as there were in that hot schoolhouse, all looking at Jack and Lucy in anticipation. The place bulged at the seams with people. One of the townsmen played a small accordion while Luke, on crutches, brought his mom down the aisle from the back of the room to give her away. In his starched white shirt and tie, the young man looked awfully grown up to Jack as he watched him swing across the floor on his sticks.

  Jangles, his best man, stood to the side with Jack and held a small surprise the two of them had concealed. When Preacher Teck came to the part of the ceremony about the exchange of rings, Lucy raised her eyebrows a quarter of an inch, not expecting the matter to be brought up since they hadn’t purchased any.

  “Here, sir,” Jangles said, stepping in to hand the preacher a folded linen handkerchief that nested a gold ring.

  A smile grew at the corners of her mouth at the sight of it. “My grandmother’s,” Jack whispered, and slipped it on her finger.

  She nodded, speechless. Jack was afraid she was going to cry.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife,” Preacher Teck said with a smile. “You may kiss the bride.”

  And he did.

  He knew one thing: his grandma Starr would’ve been proud of Lucy Starr, same as she’d been of every other child in her grannyhood. He could feel the little old lady’s blue eyes looking down from heaven at him. “It’s about time you got married, Jacky boy,” she’d say.

  For their honeymoon lodging, the newlyweds used a tent that Lucy had borrowed from Sister. After the wedding they drove up to Willow Springs with a light buckboard and team that Jangles had borrowed from his uncle for the event. The day before the rangers had gone up and set up the tent for them. There was a large supply of chopped wood and a grub box full enough to last them a month.

  Sometime past midnight Jack awoke to the sounds of the horses acting restless, as if there was a disturbance in the meadow.

  “What is it?” Lucy asked, turning over and clutching his shoulder.

  “I’m not sure,” he whispered. “Something is upsetting the horses. Could be a bear. You stay here.”

  “You be careful. It could be Comanches.”

  He slipped on his pants and socks. Straining to detect any recognizable noises, he finished pulling on his foot gear and scrambled to his feet. He handed her the rifle, just in case, and with a nod he left her sitting in her new nightgown atop the pallet.

  The night sky was pricked with stars, and a quarter moon cast a pearly light on the meadow. From his vantage point, he could see the two horses’ silhouettes; they were looking south at something. When he turned to look, he couldn’t make out anything but a dark curtain of trees. Still the team kept snorting as if they were upset. Even if it was just a bear, the horses’ behavior was enough to convince Jack. He ducked back inside and exchanged his six-shooter with the rifle he gave Lucy.

  “Did you see anything?” she whispered.

  “Not what those ponies are seeing or smelling. But there’s something out there.”

  Outdoors again, he used the shadowy edge of the trees to move in the direction of the team, who still held their vigil on the intruder—or intruders. Trust a horse to see and know a man’s enemies before he even saw them. He put a lot of stock in that adage.

  He dried his palm on the side of his pants leg, despite the night’s coolness. He halted and knelt, hoping for a better view of whatever had interrupted his sleep. In a few moments he heard voices whispering.

  “That ain’t his gray out there. Them’s some kind of light draft horses. Ain’t worth nothing.”

  “Shut up!” The other man lowered his voice. “. . . he’ll hear you.”

  “Waste of our damn time—”

  “Let’s get the hell out of here, then.”

  He didn’t recognize either voice; they were too far away and hidden in the trees. On his feet he moved closer to where he thought the voices were coming from, skirting the cedar boughs, but he could hear them already retreating up the hills as dislodged stones rolled down the hillsides. Chances were good he’d never know who they were. One thing was for certain: they wanted his gray horse. It was strange that he’d been targeted twice recently. First two hombres had beaten him up for no apparent reason in a public saloon. Then two hoots rode clear into the middle of nowhere to steal his gray horse and made enough commotion to wake him in the process.

  He walked back to the tent. Lucy rushed out in her new nightgown and hugged him, her face pale with worry.

  “I’m so glad you’re alright.” She nestled her face into his bare chest. “I was so worried.”

  “I’m fine,” he reassured her. “They rode off.”

  “Who were they?”

  “Damned if I know, but I heard them say they wanted to steal my gray horse. Seems like they left Jangles’ uncle’s team alone.”

  She peered off in the night just to be certain.

  He kissed her to reassure her once more. “They rode off. Let’s go back to bed.”

  She cast one last look down the starlit meadow to check for them, then swung her arm around his waist and headed back. “Yes, yes, let’s.”

  The next morning when he looked around he found nothing but cigarette butts on the ground. They must have sat and looked over the scene for some time. What would they have done with the gray? There was no way to sell him in the area, because folks would recognize him. It didn’t make sense. He followed the tracks in the brush but found no more evidence of them.

  The week flew by and on Friday Jack and Lucy packed up to return to the ranch. On the spring seat with all their gear loaded on the rig, he looked over the valley as they rode on, admiring the rich, green meadows and the tall cedars.

  “Nice place to get away,” he remarked.

  “You don’t regret anything?” she asked, hugging his arm.

  “Regret? I’m ecstatic to have you for a wife.”

  “You remind yourself of that if our marriage ever turns sour,” she joked.

  “And you, Mrs. Starr? Any regrets?”

  She shook her head firmly. “I feel younger than I have in years. I just can’t believe I found . . .” she trailed off, trying to hold back tears.

  He hugged her with his right arm. “Don’t cry.”

  She used a handkerchief to dab at her eyes. “Oh, I just never thought I’d have another chance to find this.”

  He smiled broadly. “I’ll try to make you feel that way for the rest of our lives.”

  “I hope I do.”

  He kissed her. Maybe he hadn’t wasted his whole life after all. The dreamy experience of the honeymoon had suspended him in another world and he wasn’t at all eager to get back to reality.

  In the late afternoon, they descended the hill, dogs barking and the kids in the yard awaiting their arrival. He chuckled. “Reckon they’ll be on us for coming home late.”

  “Oh, I hope not,” she said, a wrinkle of worry creasing her forehead.

  He laughed. “Who cares. Sometimes a man needs a little time alone with his wife.”

  Chapter 15

  The D-T ranch headquarters bustled with activity early that morning as the mustangers prepared to leave, just a few days after Jack and Lucy’s honeymoon. Jangles had borrowed a team of mules and a farm wagon from a neighboring rancher to haul their things. Jack realized the two mules were only half broken, which must’ve been the reason why the rancher was all too eager to loan them out. Driving them required a rider on each side with a lead rope tied hard and fast to keep the mules on the road and prevent them from running away. But it was no big job for a ranger and it was easier than using team horses, which required more work to load and unload than a wagon.

  “When will you be back?” Lucy asked, clinging to him.

  “Two weeks,” Jack said. “I hope we have a string of them by then.”


  “So do I. You and those boys be careful. Wild horses could hurt you.”

  He agreed to be careful for the hundredth time, kissed her good-bye and left. By sundown they were at their base camp near the horse traps he’d found on his trip with Lucy.

  Long past dark they finished eating and were getting ready to climb into their bedrolls. Jangles stopped and listened to the sounds of the night in the campfire light.

  “You reckon a man could ever break that blue roan stallion that runs with a band of mares up here? I’ve seen him twice or so.”

  “Jangles, you want him, we’ll get him,” Jack said.

  “I ain’t a great horse breaker, Cap’n.”

  “Only way to learn is to do it. We’ll all help you.”

  “Dang, so that’s what your friends are for,” Jangles said with a grin.

  “Who said we was your friends?” Cotton asked from his bedroll, and pulled the light cover over his shoulder. The rest of them laughed.

  The first day went smoothly. They drove a few mustangs in, led by an old branded horse. A good set of wild males followed him into the repaired pens. Standing at the closed gate, Jack looked over the catch. There were probably a half dozen in the trap they could turn into saddle horses.

  He left them in the pen for the night and went to camp, where Cotton was getting supper ready. They could sort out the ones they planned to keep in the morning. With no time for dinner at midday, he figured the boys were starving. Amused, he found that Arnold and Jangles were trying to hurry along the cook.

  “It takes time,” Cotton said, brandishing a large wooden spoon at them. “Now get back.”

  “Let’s make some halters so we can tie logs on those horses we intend to break,” Jack said, putting his hands to work on the reel of rope he’d bought from Volkner. His scheme was to let the horses drag around a large log until they calmed down and were gentler. After making a few halters, supper was ready and the four of them dug in as Jack poured the coffee.

  “Kinda hard to be the cook while y’all are running mustangs all day,” Cotton complained.

  “You’re doing fine. Someone’s got to fill our hollow bellies. It’s just as important as wranglin’,” Jack reassured him.

  “I hate to miss the action.”

  “You won’t. We’ll let you help us do the breaking, and you can get kicked, bit and trampled like the rest of us.”

  Cotton laughed, already in a better mood. “You ever get to see Sergeant Craig when you were in town?”

  Jack sobered. “No, but I sure wanted to.” It had niggled at Jack, knowing the man was so upset about his trip back with Mrs. Lerner, but between the wedding and the honeymoon he never had enough time to visit him.

  “I heard that him and Marsha broke up on account of him feeling so low after the rescue. That’s why he never came to your wedding either.”

  Jack nodded. “After we get things settled here, I’ll ride by and check on him.”

  “I sure wish you would. Marsha’d be a good woman for him. He needs a wife and bless her, she needs him. She’s my mom’s cousin. And he’d listen to you.”

  “Maybe,” Jack agreed. “At least I’ll try.”

  Early the next morning after breakfast, they separated the horse catch on horseback. Branded horses were cut out first and turned loose if they looked like discards. The good ones that looked like they were broken were corralled. Their owners would pay for their return. They’d simply escaped and joined the wild ones. Obvious cripples were cut loose, along with a clubfooted one, a bay with a bad limp from some previous wreck and a horse with problems in his neck that restricted him from raising his head.

  That left about thirty prospects in the final cut. Six were freshly weaned and too young for their purposes. They branded these with Lucy’s D-T iron and neutered them. They would return for them when they were older.

  After a long day of sorting and working the herd, they finally made it back to camp, exhausted, ate some leftover biscuits, fell into their bedrolls and went to sleep.

  Jack was up before dawn to help Cotton fix breakfast. The crew would need to eat hardy to work another day. They fried a pound of sliced bacon, a huge pan of German fried potatoes and onions, plus two batches of biscuits in the Dutch oven. Cotton stirred the skillet of scrambled eggs while Jack woke Jangles and Arnold.

  They crawled out of their bedrolls, bleary-eyed, looking like they’d been through hell.

  “This is tougher than chasing Comanches,” Jangles complained, pulling on his boots.

  “Wait till you see what Cotton has cooked up.” Jack jerked his thumb toward the campfire to indicate the food.

  “Hurrah!” Arnold said. “I dreamed we all would starve up here.”

  Jack shook his head. He needed to hire a full-time cook next time. At least today they’d be full as ticks.

  The two dozen horses they kept were worked, branded, gelded and fitted with a halter, rope and log to drag. Spooked by the trailing object, they usually threw a fit, but soon they would tire out and become tamer.

  Midafternoon they went back to camp. Come morning they’d begin to break the horses. Jack felt proud of his hardworking crew. Things were moving along so well that he allowed everyone to take a siesta. At supper their spirits seemed to be lifted. Jack knew they were doing better.

  In the morning they took their saddles and pads down to the pens. Using Mac as the snubbing horse, Jack roped the big bay, who threw a head-shaking fit. The boys rushed in, threw a jumper over his head and subdued him. Jangles worked a saddle blanket over his back, talking soothingly to the horse the whole time and dodging his flying hind heels. They untied the rope from his drag block, and using Mac they pulled him to a snubbing post. In a short while he was saddled and his left hind foot drawn up with a rope tied on the horn so if he fought he’d fall down. They left him and Jack rode in for another.

  The big gruella he picked pawed with his forefeet and flashed his teeth. Despite his surgery from the previous day, he was not going to be easy.

  “Go get a blanket,” Jack told Arnold. “We’re laying him down and showing him who’s boss.”

  Jangles frowned as he tried to work closer with the saddle pad. “What’re we going to do?”

  “We’ll put him down on his side and you can sit on his head and neck and talk to him awhile.”

  “What is he, four or five?”

  “He ain’t a baby.” Jack watched the gruella shake his head furiously.

  “No, he’s been in some fights too. Got several scars from battles with stallions.”

  “He should make a good stout horse,” Jack said.

  Before the day was over, Arnold was bitten on the arm by a furious bronc. No broken skin, but it tore through his sleeve. He was jumpy for the rest of the day, leaping back whenever a horse flashed his teeth at him, which several did. The others got a kick out of it.

  After they had successfully tamed a few horses, the crew rode back to camp, joking and laughing.

  “What was it like up there in Abilene?” Jangles asked.

  “No one ever went to sleep,” Jack said. “Those cowboys never stopped their wild parties. They gambled till they lost all their money. They hugged and kissed every shady lady that would stand still for them and drank lots of bad whiskey.”

  “Were they pretty?” Jangles asked. “The women, I mean.”

  “Not particularly, unless you were starved for one.”

  “You don’t act too excited about having been there.” Jangles sounded a little disappointed.

  “It was just another wild place. Folks didn’t show good sense and there were some shootings that were uncalled for. Whiskey and guns don’t mix well.”

  “Sorry I asked,” Jangles said.

  “No, it wasn’t . . .” Jack gave a sigh. “It simply wasn’t a good experience for me.”

  “Something bad happen to you up there?” Cotton asked in a low voice.

  Jack looked off across the rolling hills, which were distorted by heat
waves. Those boys needed an answer, but he felt too choked up to talk about it. He couldn’t swallow.

  “My youngest brother, Cory, was there with me.” He chewed on his lower lip before he continued. “Cory was seventeen. I guess he got involved with a lady of the night in a saloon. A drunk came in claiming she was his girl. When she protested he slapped her down to the floor.

  “Cory caught his arm to make him stop. The man whirled, answered him with a .45 and shot him five times.”

  “Five times?”

  Jack nodded.

  “Did the law get him?” Jangles asked.

  “No. He got away.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Julius Knotts.”

  Cotton looked up from the floury board where he was cutting biscuits. “You know where he’s at?”

  “I hear every once in a while that he’s been in such and such a place. In fact I was looking for him the night I learned about the Lost Dog Creek dance and rode up there to see if he was around someplace.”

  “I never heard the name before,” Arnold said, busy peeling potatoes between his knees.

  “He goes by Jewel sometimes,” Jack said.

  “That the reason you been saying no to the trail-boss job?” Jangles asked.

  Jack looked off at the low setting sun. It would be dark in a half hour. “The job ain’t all it’s cut out to be. I buried three young men along the trail to Abilene. Their mothers won’t ever be able to decorate their sons’ graves. They’re buried at river crossings and places we had stampedes. By now the crude crosses we planted over them have been trampled down by other herds passing through, so there aren’t even any markers.”

  He shook his head and asked them to excuse him. Everyone felt subdued.

  Standing on the highest point he watched the bleeding sun dissolve away the last of the day. Abilene was over, but it still felt like a spear in his chest when he talked or even thought about Cory’s death at the hands of that cruel man. One shot would have been enough, but to empty his six-gun in Cory’s body seemed like cold-blooded murder.