The Bozeman Trail

by Ralph Compton

  Once the entire herd was across, he called everyone together.

  “We’ve probably walked off half the tallow over the last seven weeks. Because of that, I think we should stay here for a few days to recruit our animals,” James said. “We’ve plenty of water and grass, and I have a feeling the hardest part of the drive is before us.”

  Although James was the trail boss, he wanted, when possible, to do things by consensus. Thus it was that he gave everyone an equal opportunity to speak. To his relief, everyone, even the Scattergoods, agreed with him.

  The Texans’ cow camp was less than three miles from Fort Larned, Kansas. Leaving Bob, Billy, Matthew, and Mark to watch over the herd, James, Duke, Luke, and John rode to the fort. There was a small settlement just outside the fort itself. The town appeared to consist almost entirely of saloons, brothels, and gaming houses, primarily as a means of relieving the soldiers of their monthly pay.

  “Well now, lookie here,” Luke said, smiling broadly as he looked up at several of the prostitutes who were leaning over the railing of an upstairs balcony. “I do believe I’m going to enjoy this place.”

  “Stay out of trouble,” James cautioned.

  “I ain’t lookin’ for trouble,” Luke said. “I’m just lookin’ for a little fun.”

  Luke and John stopped in front of one of the saloons. James rode on for a few more yards before he realized they were no longer riding with him. He stopped and looked back toward them as they were tying their horses to the hitch rail. It was obvious that they were eager to get inside.

  “Maybe you’d better stay with them, Duke,” James said. “Keep them out of trouble, if you can.”

  “You don’t need me with you?”

  “No, I’m just going to see what kind of information I can get from the post commander about the trail ahead. As soon as I talk to him, I’ll join you.”

  “All right, I’ll watch them for you.” He smiled. “Besides, a beer would taste awfully good right now,” Duke said.

  James left the three men in front of one of the saloons, then he rode up to Fort Larned.1 When he reached the front gate, a guard stepped in front of him, bringing his rifle to port arms.

  “State your name and your business, mister,” the guard said.

  “My name is James Cason. I’m a cattleman, here to see the commanding officer.”

  The guard called the sergeant of the guard, who came to give James the once-over. Finally the sergeant nodded. “All right, tie your horse over there,” he said, pointing to a hitching rail, “then come with me.”

  The post was garrisoned by Company H of the Twelfth Kansas Volunteer Infantry. The commanding officer, who was a lawyer in civilian life, was Captain Lawrence Appleby.

  “You say you are a cattleman?” Appleby asked, when James was brought to him.

  “Yes. I’m driving a herd north, from Texas to Dakota.”

  Appleby looked up sharply, when he heard the word Texas.

  “From Texas, you say?”

  “That’s right. My folks own a ranch in Bexar County, near San Antonio.”

  Appleby stroked his chin as he studied James. “Technically—Mr. Cason, is it?—that makes you an enemy.”

  “I don’t know how that could be. I haven’t taken up arms against the United States.”

  “But you are a Texan, and Texas is one of the states in rebellion.”

  “The government of the state of Texas may be in rebellion, but I am not,” James said. “If I were, I would have joined the army of the Confederacy.”

  “Then, perhaps you would like to join the Union army?”

  “No, I wouldn’t. The reason I’m here now is because I want no part of this war.”

  “A lot of people want no part of this war,” Appleby said. “But there is such a thing as duty to one’s country, and the honor of service.”

  “I don’t believe it is my duty to kill my own kin,” James said. “And I’m sure there’s no honor in that.”

  “Honest men can disagree on some things, Mr. Cason. But I see little room for disagreement over service to one’s country. You see, I joined the Kansas Volunteers because I did want to be a part of this war. Great and historical battles are being fought back East at places like Pittsburg Landing, Fredericksburg, Seven Pines, Gaines Mill.”

  Appleby sighed.

  “And where am I during this glorious crusade? I am cooling my heels at a post so far removed from the war that I may as well be in England. And the men they have given me? They are the dregs of society, misfits every one of them. Would you believe that the desertion rate here is as high as it is in a unit that is involved in battle?”

  “Why is that?”

  “In a word, Mr. Cason, gold,” Captain Appleby said. “In case you haven’t heard, gold has been discovered in Dakota, and a number of my soldiers have left in search of their fortune. In fact, I believe some of them volunteered for duty here just so they would be closer to the gold find in Dakota. But, from all accounts, the scalps of many of these deserters now decorate Indian lodges between here and Dakota.”

  “That brings me to the point of my visit with you, Captain,” James said. “I plan to take a new trail, called the Bozeman Trail, into Dakota. What do you know of that trail, and of the Indians there?”

  “As it so happens, Mr. Cason, Fort Larned is the location of the agency for the Cheyenne and Arapaho Indians. Therefore we get many reports from this so-called Bozeman Trail. And I can tell you this. The establishment of that trail has violated every accord we ever had with the Indians. It goes right through their territory and they are not happy about it. Many a traveler has been attacked while taking that trail to the gold fields of Dakota,” Captain Appleby said. “I strongly advise you not to go that way. In fact, my advice to you would be not to go any farther at all.”

  “Are you suggesting that I turn around and take my herd back to Texas?” James asked.

  “I’m suggesting that you turn around, yes. But you needn’t take your herd back to Texas. You could sell your cows to the army. I’m sure my quartermaster will pay you a fair amount. Not in cash, of course, but with a voucher that will be redeemable from the government in Washington.”

  “What does your quartermaster consider a fair amount?”

  “Twenty dollars a head.”

  “That’s less than half of what I can get for them in Dakota. Thank you, but no, I think we will go on.”

  “You can only get that much money for your cows in Dakota if you make it to Dakota,” Captain Appleby said, pointedly.

  “We will make it,” James said. “All we need is a little help.”

  “Help? Mr. Cason, you aren’t asking for a military escort, are you?”

  “Actually, all I was going to ask for was a copy of the latest maps of the area,” James said.

  “But I would be a fool to turn a military escort down, if such is available.”

  “Under ordinary circumstances, a military escort might be available to you. But these aren’t ordinary circumstances. There is a war on, and you, and I take it the others with you on this drive, are Texans. How would it look in the press if some of my men were killed while providing an escort for Southerners?”

  “It probably wouldn’t look very good,” James said in agreement.

  “I could wire back to Fort Leavenworth and request permission to provide an escort. I don’t think they will give me approval, and there is even a possibility that they will order me to detain you and confiscate your herd. Would you like me to send that wire?”

  “No,” James said.

  “I didn’t think you would. So, what are you going to do, Mr. Cason? Are you going to try and go on alone? Or, shall I send for my quartermaster to buy your herd?”

  “I’m going on,” James said, resolutely.

  “I wish you luck,” Appleby said, by way of dismissal.

  The Bucket of Blood Saloon:

  Duke and John were standing at the bar, having a drink. Luke was with them, but he was paying more a
ttention to one of the prostitutes than he was to his beer. Four soldiers were sitting at a nearby table.

  “Hey, where you fellas from?” one of the soldiers asked.

  “We’re from—” John started, but Duke interrupted him.

  “We’re from a cow camp up the river a short distance,” Duke said. “We’re driving a herd of cattle through here.”

  “Yeah, well, what I mean is, where did you bring them cows from?”

  “Texas,” John answered before Duke could cut him off.

  Duke sighed, because John’s answer had just the effect he was trying to avoid.

  “Texas? By God, you mean to tell me you Rebel bastards got the sand to come up here?”

  “We’re from Texas, but we’re not Rebels,” Duke said.

  “You ain’t, huh? Well, you look like Rebels to me,” the soldier insisted.

  “How the hell would you know what a Rebel looks like?” John asked. “You ain’t exactly in the middle of the war out here.”

  “I say you three pukes are Rebels,” the soldier said, getting up from his chair. “And I’m tellin’ you to go on back to where you came from.”

  Without saying another word, John threw his beer mug at the soldier. He missed the soldier who was his target, but he hit one of the other soldiers sitting at the same table.

  One of the soldiers at the table threw his own beer mug and it sailed by John and Duke, smashing several bottles of liquor that were sitting on a shelf behind the bar.

  With that, the fight was on. Other soldiers joined the first group, giving them a three-to-one edge over the cowboys. Tables were broken and chairs were splintered as the fight grew in intensity.

  James was just walking toward the saloon to meet the others, when the window suddenly exploded into a shower of glass as a chair came flying outside. From inside the saloon he could hear angry shouts and curses, and he realized at once what was happening. He ran into the saloon with his gun drawn. Stepping through the door, he saw three soldiers lying on the floor. A fourth soldier was on his knees, shaking his head as if trying to clear away the cobwebs. Five soldiers were still on their feet, however, and they were closing a circle around the three cowboys.

  “Hold it!” James shouted. When nobody paid any attention to him, he shouted again, firing his pistol at the same time. The gunshot boomed through the saloon and a heavy cloud of smoke and the acrid smell of spent powder drifted through the room.

  The gunshot had the desired effect of getting everyone’s attention and all activity came to a halt.

  “Now, you soldier-boys just back on away from my pards, there,” James ordered, making a little waving motion with his pistol.

  The soldiers moved a few feet away from the bar. Their hands were up and they were glaring at James.

  “All the way,” James said. “Go over to that table in the far corner and sit down.”

  Grumbling, the soldiers did as ordered.

  “Now, Duke, take these two with you on outside, get on your horses and go back to camp,” James said.

  Duke and Luke started to comply, but John turned back to the bar.

  “You boys go on. I ain’t goin’ nowhere ’till I’ve finished my drink and had me a woman,” he said.

  Almost imperceptibly, James nodded at Duke. Slipping his pistol from his holster, Duke hit John just behind the ear. John went down, and Duke scooped him up. Then, carrying John over his shoulder, Duke followed Luke outside.

  With his gun still pointed toward the soldiers, including the ones on the floor who were just now beginning to regain their feet, James backed out of the saloon.

  “Hey!” the saloon proprietor shouted. “Who’s going to pay for the damage to my place? I’ve got a broke window, couple of busted chairs, and a dozen bottles of liquor ruined here.”

  “How much?”

  “A hundred dollars for sure.”

  “We’ve got a cow camp about three miles upriver,” James said. “I’ll cut out five head and leave them tied to a tree. You can come up and get them. Will that satisfy you?”

  The proprietor nodded. “If I find five cows tied to a tree, I’ll be satisfied.”

  James was the last to leave, still holding his gun at the ready as he backed through the door. A moment later, those in the saloon heard the sound of hoofbeats as the cowboys rode off.

  Private Murphy, who was one of the soldiers ordered to the table, got up quickly and started toward the door.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, soldier,” the proprietor said. “That fool cowboy might just be waiting for someone to stick his head through the door so he can shoot it off. I know them Texans.”

  Murphy halted his charge toward the door. He went over to the bar. There were the ghosts of missing stripes on Murphy’s sleeve, indicating that his present rank of private was the result of some misdeed in the past. Picking up what was left of John Scattergood’s beer, he drank it.

  “Say, will them cows really pay for the damage that was done in here?” he asked.

  “They sure will. There is a standing offer from the U.S. Army for cattle. They’ll pay twenty dollars apiece for ’em.”

  “Is that a fact?” Murphy asked.

  “What does the army want with cattle?” one of the other soldiers asked.

  “What does the army want with cattle? Where do you think we get our beef?” Murphy replied.

  “Seems to me like we don’t hardly ever have none,” the first soldier said. “Seems to me, mostly all we get is beans and, sometimes, a little bacon.”

  “What with the war on and all, there’s a lot more soldiers than there is beef available,” the saloon proprietor explained. “And what beef is available goes to the fightin’ men, not soldier-boys like you, safe in some distant fort. That’s why there is a standing order for cattle, and the army is willing to pay good money to anyone who can furnish them with beef.”

  Murphy walked back to the table to sit with the others. “Twenty dollars for one cow. Did you fellas hear that?”

  “Yeah, I heard it,” one of the other soldiers said. “Twenty dollars is damn near two months’ pay.”

  “That’s a lot of money,” another soldier said.

  “You know, if we had us, say, a hundred cows, that would be worth some real money,” Murphy said.

  “Yeah, if we had a hundred cows.”

  Murphy smiled at the others. “Well, I know where we can get a hundred cows,” he said.

  “Where?”

  “Didn’t you hear that Texan tell the barkeep that he had a cow camp just up the river a ways? A cow camp means there’s cows.”

  “Are you suggesting we rustle cattle?” one of the others asked.

  “Nah,” Murphy said, dismissing the suggestion with a wave of his hand. “It wouldn’t be rustling. We’re in the Union army, them boys are Rebels. All we would be doing is confiscating a few cows for the government.”

  “What’s the good of that? If we confiscated them for the army, the army would just take them away from us and we’d get nothing.”

  “Yeah,” another agreed. “And it don’t matter what they are paying civilians to sell them beef—they ain’t going to pay soldiers.”

  “I was thinking we could sell the cows to the barkeep, then he could sell them to the army.”

  “Think he’d do that?”

  “I’ll give you boys fifteen dollars a head,” the barkeep said, overhearing their conversation.

  Chapter Twelve

  Cow camp on the Arkansas River, early morning,

  Friday, August 1, 1862:

  Billy Swan was riding Nighthawk when he heard the faint sound of hooves on rock. Since the herd was at rest, he looked around to find the source of the sound and saw a long dark line, ragged with heads and horns, moving away from the main herd.

  It took him a moment to realize exactly what was happening, but once he figured it out, he reacted quickly.

  “Cattle thieves!” he shouted. “James, Bob, Duke, the rest of you, wake up! Turn ou
t! We’re being robbed!”

  Billy’s shout not only awakened his partners, it alerted the thieves and, instantly one of them fired a shot at the sound of Billy’s voice. Billy saw the muzzle flash, then heard the bullet whiz by, amazingly close for a wild shot in the dark.

  Billy shot back, and the crack of the guns right over the heads of the pilfered cows started them running. By now, rapid fire began coming from the camp itself as James and the others rolled out of their blankets and began shooting. Revelation was standing in the wagon, firing a rifle, adding her own effort to the fight.

  Billy put his pistol away and raised his rifle. He aimed toward the dust and the swirling melee of cattle, waiting for one of the robbers to present a target. One horse appeared, but its saddle was empty. Then another horse appeared, this time with a rider who was shooting wildly.

  Billy fired and the robber’s horse broke stride, then fell, carrying his rider down with him, right in front of the running cattle. Downed horse and rider disappeared under the hooves of the maddened beasts.

  “Let’s go! Let’s get out of here!” someone shouted.

  “What about the cattle?” another voice asked.

  “Leave ’em! They’re runnin’ wild; we’ll never get ’em under control now!”

  As nearly as Billy could tell, there were three remaining rustlers, or would-be rustlers, and they started off, running in the opposite direction from the running cows.

  Billy was torn between a desire to go after the rustlers or run down the cattle. So far, only the cattle that had been stolen were running. The main herd, though made restless by the flashes and explosions in the night, milled around but resisted running.

  James appeared alongside Billy at that moment, now mounted on his own horse.