North to the Salt Fork

by Ralph Compton

  Jack relaxed a little and the stiffness in his shoulders began to evaporate. He wished he could sleep for five days. He dismounted and sat on the ground. His entire outfit had been through a helluva night and then some. But they were tough to beat.

  While they were eating, Sorrel drove up in his buggy with a lathered horse.

  “Why did you move so damn far?” He gave them an angry look.

  “It wasn’t by choice.” Jack wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “The cattle chose this place.”

  “I’ve got a buyer for the cattle. Ten cents a pound. He wants a five-percent cutback.”

  Jack shook his head at the man. He knew there was a market for cattle, and that meant he had some say in the final outcome. Culling five percent from his herd was out-and-out robbery. Folks back home in Texas needed every dime he could deliver.

  “Give me two days to think on it?”

  “No longer, and you give me a chance to match anyone else’s bid, since I came out here and talked to you first.”

  “I might trade with you, but the five percent is off. You can cull any sorry or crippled steer, but not five percent across the herd.” They shook hands and Sorrel took the afternoon meal with them. Then in the late afternoon he headed back for Wichita.

  Charles Manning found them the next morning. Jack felt even more confident after Manning made his offer. He proposed eleven cents a pound and a two-percent shrink. Jack told Manning he’d let him know. The cattle buyer acted put out.

  “When’re you going to decide?’

  “In twenty-four hours.”

  Two more buyers showed up that day around sundown and both offered less than Sorrel and Manning. Each time, the men looked perplexed that Jack even thought there were better offers than theirs to be had in the country.

  Seated cross-legged beside each other on the ground, eating supper, Jangles said to Jack, “I’m really learning this cattle-selling business. First you need an edge, like having all steers. Hell, if I’d done this myself, I’d have rounded them all up: cows, calves and big steers. I never knew it was that complicated, but I see why now. I’ve been watching herds go north since the war was over. They were all mixed, and now it’s no wonder to me that some do good, but the majority lose their butts.”

  “That’s a big part of it. Men come here and get mad as hell because no one wants to give them anything for the rest of their stock.” Jack held out his cup for Ralph to refill it.

  “Maybe we can finally get some sleep tonight,” his cook said as he poured the coffee.

  Jack agreed. “I hope so too. I’m going in tomorrow to cut the best deal I can. These cattle need to be on a train.”

  “Amen,” the crew said in unison.

  “What will they weigh?” Jangles asked.

  “I have no idea; but the scales will tell.”

  “What are you guessing?”

  “Seven fifty, maybe more. They’re big cattle.”

  Jack hardly slept. Cattle prices, weights, how to divide the money, how to pay the boys—he felt like he was on his side rolling off a tall, grassy hill, his thoughts bouncing around and getting mixed up in his head. If he could cut a profitable deal the folks of Little Dog Creek could be debt free and would never again have to work with back-pocket bankers like Sawyer.

  Midmorning in Wichita, he found Sorrel in his tent. The man rose from behind his desk to greet him. Sunshine filtered through the canvas, giving off a dull yellow light.

  “What did you decide?”

  “Eleven cents, no shrink. You can cut back any crippled or sorry one you see—we’ll help with that.”

  “My gawd, that’s high, Starr.”

  “I’m going to a buyer right now who has already promised me that. You said you wanted first crack at them, but if you can’t meet my price I’m gonna have to be on my way.”

  Sorrel tapped a pencil on the desk, concentrating hard on the open flap. “Alright, I’ll take them. You’re a hard man to deal with, but I respect your commitment to fairness. I have cattle cars coming day after tomorrow. I’ll order more. You should be loaded out in five days.”

  They shook hands firmly.

  “How much cash will you need here?” Sorrel asked.

  “Five thousand to pay the boys and buy supplies.”

  “The rest?”

  “Cattleman’s Bank, San Antonio, Texas. Let Wells Fargo deliver it.”

  “That’s close to where you live?”

  “Close enough. I’m damn sure not packing it home. I want it deposited to Mr. and Mrs. Jack Starr, just in case. You have a bookkeeper I can hire to help me figure all this out?”

  “Roth, he’s my man.” He indicated the man at the adjoining desk, working in a ledger. “He’ll help you when we get the deal done.”

  “Good.” Jack went over and shook the man’s hand.

  Back at camp excitement built and everyone scurried around to prepare for the transfer. Cattle were cut and driven to Wichita in herds of four hundred. Jack was in the scale room when the bawling steers were crowded onto the platform scales.

  “They’re going to average seven ninety,” Roth said as he finished settling the weight markers on the balance beam of the scale and marking the total weight down on his sheet.

  Jack watched them drive the cattle off. “They’re going to make eight hundred pounds.”

  Roth nodded and another bunch was driven onto the scales. The puncher in charge shouted, “Twentynine head are in this bunch.”

  Roth waved that he heard him.

  In three days the herd was on their way to some farmer’s fattening pens. The deal was concluded at the bank, a wood-framed, unfinished structure with two shotgun guards in the lobby and a huge green safe chained to the wall.

  All the paperwork was settled. Jack rose, shook the banker’s hands and went back to look at Roth’s figures. He knew there were 1,880 animals. Not a bad deal—every rancher that consigned cattle would get nearly eighty dollars a head, less his five-percent fee and expenses. His crew would get close to two hundred a man with pay and bonuses for less than four months of hard work. Jangles and Ralph had twice that amount coming to them.

  Kicking back in a swivel chair, Jack studied the figures on Roth’s sheet—each rancher’s amount due. Lucy would earn more than twenty-seven thousand dollars for her steers. His five percent would top more than eight thousand. With a weary head shake, he smiled to himself. The Frank brothers had paid him nine hundred for his part on his last trip to Wichita, then acted like Jack was robbing them when it came time to dole out the money.

  Before he left Sorrel’s office, he paid Roth twenty dollars for his help. The man looked at the amount and his eyes bugged out behind the small glasses on his untanned nose. “Why—why—you don’t owe me this much, Mr. Starr.”

  “I’ve got what I owe folks itemized on this here list. It’s all straight. I’m damn sure happy to pay anyone who deserves it. You enjoy that money.”

  Before sundown, he was back in camp and paid the boys. Flush with money, several rode off to town to whoop it up. After the boys left he saw his horse wrangler, Estefan, drinking coffee.

  “No big fiesta tonight?” he asked the youth.

  “No, señor. I have a family to feed to Mexico. My father is dead. Shot by banditos. My mother has five children younger than me. Someone needs to take care of them.”

  “I admire a man with a sense of responsibility,” Jack said. He looked around and noticed that his rangers had also stayed behind.

  “Jangles,” he called out. “You rangers ain’t going into town?”

  “We thought about it,” Jangles said, taking his mouth harp from his lips, “but women like Rose and Flower, they sure ain’t cheap, and the cheap ones are uglier than a turned-up-nose sow. We decided we’d have ourselves a better time in San Antonio once we got down there.”

  “Arnold, you ain’t dying to go into town?” Jack asked.

  Cotton gave him a little push and teased, “Tell the captain why you stayed behind.�
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  “Well, Captain, we kinda sampled the, uh, two ladies when they were here. They were sure nice, but we decided we could wait a while longer, since we could never afford their kind in town.”

  Jack laughed. “Well, I better send a telegram to the ladies of San Antonio that the rangers are coming.”

  They all laughed, and Ralph poured a last round of coffee before they headed to bed. “Sure is nice to know we’ll get a full night’s sleep for once. Even nicer to know we’re heading home tomorrow.”

  “Amen,” they all said.

  Jack couldn’t agree more. He thought, Lucy, we’re greasing the chuck-wagon axles and I’m coming home to you and the baby. Hold on for me.

  Chapter 28

  “Captain Starr! Captain Starr!” A woman was calling him in the night. He could hear her talking to someone, a sense of urgency in her voice.

  “I know this is their camp. There’s the D-T brand on the wagon.” She raised her voice. “Ralph! Jangles!”

  “What is it, Flower?” Jack called out to her, pulling on his pants in the moonlight.

  “They’ve shot Shanks and pistol-whipped Claude,” Flower said, almost out of breath.

  “Who did?” He was pulling on his boots at record speed now.

  “Some tough ones. One’s named Cutter. He’s the ring-leader.”

  “Never heard of him.” He turned to the man who was with her. “I’m Jack Starr.” They shook hands.

  “Tom Charles. I drove Flower out here,” he said.

  “What did they do to Shanks?” Jangles joined them, still buttoning his shirt.

  “Shot him. He’s at the doc’s office. I don’t know how bad he’s hurt.”

  “Thanks for driving out here, you two. We’ll get some horses and head in to town right away,” Jack said. “Where can I find this doc?”

  “Doc Leonard has a tent office on Main Street,” Flower said.

  “Boss, I’ll get Estefan and the horses,” Jangles said, and hurried off.

  “Take just a minute to make some coffee,” Ralph said, limping over to join the group. “Cotton, find a candle lamp.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cotton said.

  The lamp soon lit, Arnold scrambled to stoke up the fire while Ralph filled the coffeepot with water. Jack told Tom and Flower to take seats on a peeled cottonwood log. His ear tuned for the horses, he talked with Tom about the cattle sale and their plans to return to Texas.

  “I guess there’ll be thousands more coming soon,” Tom said.

  “I reckon so,” Jack said. “But I’m glad to avoid the crowds. We’ll be on our way just as everyone else is coming in.”

  Though he chatted easily, Jack’s mind was on his boys. How had Shanks and Claude gotten into it with this Cutter fellow? Was Shanks still alive? He desperately wanted to get into town and see how they were doing, not to mention the other boys who’d gone with them.

  “Where can we find this Cutter?” Jack asked Flower.

  “The Texas Saloon, I reckon. That’s where it happened.”

  He’d find this SOB and either plant him or make him wish he was dead. His crew members were like family, and as their leader he’d do anything and everything to protect them. He was starting to get antsy. Hurry up, Jangles, he thought. Find Estefan.

  The sound of the approaching horses had his crew on their feet. Saddles were grabbed up and more lamps lit for them to see by as they sorted out the horses with Estefan. The horses saddled, they mounted quickly.

  “Ralph, you’re in charge. Anything happens to us, you get these boys back home.”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Ralph said. “Take care of yourselves and get those bastards.”

  Jack nodded as he, Jangles, Cotton and Arnold reared up and charged off for Wichita.

  In the first light of dawn as they rode up Main Street, Jack saw several men passed out and snoring along the road. One man stood on the boardwalk, draining his bladder in the street as if he were in an outhouse. The boys snickered, but Jack remained focused.

  He caught sight of the sign he’d been looking for since they had arrived in town: DOCTOR MICHAEL LEONARD, PHYSICIAN.

  Jack dismounted and entered the tent. An orderly sat up, half awake, and blinked at him. “Doc ain’t here, so I hope you ain’t dying.”

  “I ain’t, but I think my cowboy Shanks is here. Gunshot wound earlier tonight.”

  “Sorry, we moved him to Bigelow’s,” the orderly said with a yawn.

  “What’s that?” Jack asked, growing impatient.

  “Oh, you didn’t know? He died.”

  Jack was floored. “When did he die?”

  “Not long ago. Bled out.”

  “Is another cowboy named Claude here?”

  “No, two Mexican cowboys took him to the hotel. Said they were his friends.”

  “Must be Raul and Peso. Was he alright?”

  “I guess somebody beat him up pretty bad, but he’ll live.”

  Jack turned to his rangers, his jaw set. “Let’s find Claude first and make sure he’s alright. Then we clean house at Texas Saloon.”

  The rangers nodded, their faces grim. They walked a block and a half to the hotel, their boots clunking on the boardwalk. A sleepy desk clerk yawned and greeted them.

  “Did you see two Mexican boys come in here with a wounded man?”

  “Yes, second floor. Room three.”

  They marched upstairs and knocked rapidly on the door. The door opened a crack, a six-shooter pointed straight at Jack’s face.

  “Easy, boys,” he said to his Mexican cowboys. “It’s just me.”

  The gun was lowered and the door flew open. “We’re so glad you came, boss man,” Raul said.

  “How is he?” Jack studied the bandaged face of the sleeping cowboy in the bed.

  “He is alive,” Raul said. “The doctor gave him laudanum so he could sleep.”

  “You boys did a good job.”

  “Did you hear about Shanks?” Peso asked.

  Jack nodded his head mournfully. “Dead.”

  Peso dropped his head. “They shot him in the back. We barely got out of there.”

  Raul agreed. “In Mexico I would have gone back and killed them all, but we wanted to get Shanks and Claude to the doctor.”

  “You did the right thing,” Jack reassured them.

  He dug out some money and handed it to Raul. “This should cover the doctor’s bill and hotel fare. I want you boys to stay here until he’s well enough to travel. We’re gonna take care of some business.”

  “What will you do about those bad hombres?” Raul asked.

  “We’re gonna get them; don’t worry.” They left the room and headed back out to the dusty street. They walked the half block back to the tent marked TEXAS SALOON.

  From across the street, Jack could see people moving around inside. He huddled the boys together, their heads bent low. “We go in guns drawn. Jangles, you herd the bartender out from behind the bar. Cotton and Arnold, spread out. I doubt Cutter and his gang are still in there, but I figure they have cribs out back. He may be in one of them.”

  “How many are in there, you figure?” Jangles asked.

  “No telling. But if anyone reaches for a gun, consider them one of Cutter’s crew.”

  The rangers nodded and they crossed the empty street, four abreast. When they entered the saloon the bartender jerked up and blinked in disbelief.

  “One word out of you and you won’t see another daybreak,” Jack said, his Colt drawn. “Where’s Cutter?”

  “I don’t know—” the bartender began, until the muzzle of Jangles’ .45 jammed into his side.

  “Where is he?” Jangles whispered.

  The barkeep swallowed hard. “Third crib on the right.”

  Jack nodded. “Watch him, Arnold.”

  “Yes, sir,” Arnold said, aiming his gun straight at the bartender’s head.

  “Jangles, take the second room. Cotton, you cover the hall,” Jack said.

  When the
y were both at the flaps, guns ready, Jack nodded. They swept back the canvas covers.

  Jack saw the man reach for his weapon on a crate beside the bed. But Jack was fast. He fired and the man screamed. He’d blown part of his hand away. In her panic to escape, the half-dressed woman in the bed fell off the far side onto the grass floor. Half crawling, she left the crib, screaming.

  “Don’t try nothing,” Jack warned, motioning with his gun barrel. “Get out here.”

  “I ain’t dressed.” He held his bloody gun hand in the other and stood up, wearing only his underpants.

  “I don’t care. Get out in the hall.”

  Two more men stood, hands held high, in the hallway.

  “These men work for you?” Jack demanded from his prisoner.

  Cutter looked up at them, then shook his head. “Never saw them before.”

  Jack couldn’t be sure whether he was lying. “Bring them along.”

  As they marched them out, two men wearing U.S. deputy marshal badges suddenly burst into the saloon. “Hold it there. What’s going on?”

  “We’ve made a citizen’s arrest, sir,” Jack said, holstering his Colt. “These men killed one of my riders and beat another half to death. Now, either you take him and his men to jail or we’re going to lynch ’em.”

  “Where do you gawdamn Texans get your gall?” one of the marshals asked.

  “Mister, in Texas we’re rangers. You better get him to the doc’s office or he’s going to bleed all over this dance floor.”

  They exchanged tough looks and one of them finally nodded. “I’ll take him down there.”

  The other one turned and looked Jack in the eye. “What are the charges against them?” he asked, motioning toward the other two men with their arms raised.

  “Accessories to the crime.”

  “You have witnesses?”

  “Sure do. Two of my men saw the whole thing happen. I’ll have them here at your convenience.”

  “Alright, you two come with me,” the marshal said, cuffing the men. “Next time get the law to do this,” he said to Jack.