The Omaha Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “Oh, you’ll be here, Pa, ornery as ever.”

  Thor laughed and convulsed into a coughing fit.

  When his chest cleared, he looked up at Dane with bleary eyes. “A long time ago, when I was a young sprout, I was a drummer. I met a woman at a county fair. I didn’t know she was married. Didn’t know she was unhappy and planning to leave her husband. But she did leave him and went with me down south. Later, she started drinkin’ real heavy and then she committed suicide.”

  “What has this to do with Throckmorton?” Dane asked.

  “Her name was Earlene Throckmorton and she was Earl’s mother. She abandoned him. Later, he tracked her down and then found out she was livin’ with me. When she killed herself, Earl blamed me. But the trouble in her life went back a long way. Long before I met her.”

  Dane was aghast. He slumped over and reached out to grab his father’s hand. “Pa, you can’t let this get to you. It’s a long time ago.”

  “Yeah, but the past has a way of catchin’ up to you. When you borrowed money from Throckmorton I wanted to tell you about him and his ma, but I couldn’t get up the courage. And I knew you needed the money to build this ranch.”

  “Throckmorton’s an ass,” Dane said.

  “But he carries a big old heavy grudge against me. And that means he’s got a grudge against you, Dane.”

  Dane squeezed his father’s hand. “Don’t you worry none, Pa. Looks like I got a grudge against him too. And it don’t go back very far.”

  “He means to kill you, son, sure as shootin’. He wants you dead. He wants your cattle and your ranch. And if he gets all that done, he’ll come after me.”

  “I would never let any of that happen, Pa.”

  “Well, I ain’t got much time left no-how. When I married Olga, I thought it was for life. Then she died and I met your mother, Scarlet. Two of the best women I ever knowed. But I had a soft spot in my heart for Earlene too. Talk about secrets. She had a whole passel of them and never let on.”

  “I’m glad you had a good life with at least two good women, Pa. I knew about Olga, of course, and I loved my mother. But they both died young and that’s why I never took to no woman. I didn’t want the grief.”

  “Usually the women outlive their men, Dane. I was just unlucky. From the first to the last.”

  Dane patted his father’s hand, drank the rest of his coffee, and stood up. “You get well, Pa. We’ll talk some more when I get back.”

  “Good-bye, son. Watch your back.”

  “I will,” Dane said.

  He walked to the corner where his rifle leaned against the wall. He picked up his bedroll and slung the rifle over his shoulder.

  Ora Lee came out into the front room.

  “Good-bye, Mr. Dane,” she said.

  “Ora Lee, I wish you’d drop the mister before my name. I always think you’re confusing me with my pa.”

  She laughed and raised a hand in farewell.

  “Yes, sir,” she said, and then bent over to check on Thor, who waved her away.

  “Don’t block my chance to see my son walk out the door,” he said.

  Dane left. His horse, Reno, was at the hitch rail. It was quiet and dark. Very quiet. Very dark.

  He tied on his bedroll and slid his rifle in its scabbard. He mounted up and took one last look at the house. He was filled with a sudden sadness at leaving his father for so long a time.

  He caught up with Len and Carlos Montoya, introduced himself to the Mexican.

  “Glad you decided to join us, Carlos,” Dane said.

  “You got big trouble, Mr. Kramer.”

  “Call me Dane, will you? I know we have to keep a sharp lookout for Concho and his gang.”

  “Concho, he is very bad man.”

  Dane sensed that Carlos had more to say about Concho. He waited, but Carlos did not offer him any more information.

  “What do you know about Concho and those men with him?” Dane asked.

  “I know who Concho is and what he does,” Carlos said.

  “I’m listenin’.”

  Then Carlos opened up. “He is from Nebraska,” he said, “but he come to New Mexico. I live there with my brother, Eladio. We find wild horses and break them. We drink in the cantina. Concho, he like a girl. Eladio, he like the same girl. Concho, he shoot Eladio at the cantina. Eladio, he have no chance. Concho tell sheriff it was the self-defense. Ha! It was murder.”

  “Were you there? You saw it happen?”

  “I was there. I see it all. Eladio, he do not want no trouble. He try to get away. Concho, he shoot him dead. I cry. I could do nothing.”

  “That’s a sad story, Carlos. I’m sorry.”

  “There’s more to it than that, Dane,” Len said. “Do you know why they call Larabee ‘Concho’?”

  “No, I don’t. Do you?”

  “Tell him, Carlos,” Len said.

  “This Concho, he kill many men in New Mexico. He work for cattlemen and they pay him to kill other rancheros. When he kill them, to collect his money, he put the little shells of the snail on their eyes. So he get the name Concho.”

  Dane drew in a breath. “A man like that doesn’t deserve to live, Carlos. But you don’t mean to kill him, do you? For revenge?”

  “I do not want him to kill my friends Alfredo and Rufio. They do not know this man. They do not know they are in danger.”

  “Would you kill Concho if you had the chance?”

  Carlos’s chest swelled with breath. His face hardened. “Yes, I would kill him. I hate him for killing my brother.”

  “Well, if the man shows up and tries to rustle our cattle, we’ll sure as hell turn every rifle on him that we can.”

  “I’d like to kill him myself,” Len said. “And then go back and kill Throckmorton for hiring him to do his dirty work.”

  “I’ve never hated anybody,” Dane said, “but I’m startin’ to think it wouldn’t be too hard with men like Concho and Throckmorton taking land and money and people as if life didn’t matter to them.”

  “Bad men,” Carlos said.

  In the distance, they heard the lowing of the cattle, the restless mooing and grumbling of a herd being bunched up. There was the tang of their offal on the air and the heavy scent of cattle hides, horseflesh, and the sweat of working men.

  “I reckon we got two horse wranglers now, Len,” Dane said.

  “And another gun,” Len said.

  Dane’s stomach roiled, not from hunger, but from a growing fear. Maybe he had taken on too much, and he might have made a mistake by splitting the herd up into two sections. If Concho and his men had ridden out of town the day before, it would not take them long to find the first herd.

  How long, he wondered, would it take Concho to realize that Paddy’s herd was only part of the total number of cattle he was driving to Omaha? And if his job was to rustle all the cattle and prevent him from paying off his mortgage at the bank, would he be satisfied with only two thousand head?

  The questions came in a rush and Dane had no answers for himself.

  But behind all the speculation about the rustling of his cattle, there was another, more ominous question.

  Was Concho out to murder him and make the way clear for Throckmorton to steal his ranch without hindrance?

  That was a distinct possibility.

  Dane touched the stock of his rifle and then his hand drifted to the butt of his pistol.

  He had to be ready if Concho came after him.

  No, he thought, no if.

  When Concho came after him, as he surely would.

  He saw the humps of his cattle in the murky distance, the moon shining on their curly hides and tingeing their horns with silvery dust. It was a fine morning and he saw his men riding around the herd, heard the whicker of the horses and the chirps and whistles of birds roused by all the activity on the Two Grand range.

  His stomach unknotted and he put all thoughts of Concho and Throckmorton out of his mind. There was work to do and a thousand head of cattl
e to move off the ranch and begin their trek to Omaha.

  Somewhere along the way, he was almost certain, he would find out what Concho was up to, and if it came to a fight, he was ready.

  But, he wondered, was he also ready to die?

  That was probably the ultimate test of a man’s courage, in war and in peace.

  It was a thought he would carry with him as he rode off in the early darkness with new country ahead and murderous men lying in wait. Like a pack of wolves.

  He pulled out his pouch and tucked tobacco into his mouth.

  “Time to go to work,” Dane said to Len.

  Len nodded and spurred his horse into a trot.

  Carlos and Dane caught up with him and then they were among their own kind, the cowhands who were the very salt of the earth.

  Chapter 19

  Concho took the lead with Randy riding alongside him in the early darkness of the morning. Concho set his course by the North Star, but at Randy’s urging, he angled to the east. An hour or so after leaving the livery, they both heard the rumble of the supply wagon and the chuck wagon. It was still too dark to see, but Concho chose a parallel course that put them within earshot of the herd but out of sight of both the herd and the outriders.

  He signaled for Lem to join him on point. Lem rode up alongside.

  “I hear ’em,” he said in a low voice.

  Concho looked up at the starry sky.

  “’Pears to me they’re headin’ on a path that will take them between Stillwater and Tulsa,” Concho said

  “Likely,” Lem said. “You know the country.”

  “Been a while, but I’m thinkin’ them cattle got to have grass and water.”

  “How many miles do you think they’ll make today?” Lem asked.

  “We’re at a fast walk and we’re catchin’ up to the head of the herd. I’d say they won’t get far this first day. Say eight or nine miles.”

  “Hell, that’ll take them months to get all the way up into Nebraska.”

  “They’ll pick up the pace tomorrow or next day,” Concho said. “Likely, they got to train the herd, make them cows forget their home range.”

  “I reckon,” Lem said, his voice quavering from the bounce of his saddle.

  Randy didn’t much like riding in darkness. But when he thought of all the hard men following them in single file, he felt almost like a soldier. He was part of something, something that made him feel important. He was glad to be riding with the leader, Concho, and not just one of those anonymous men who followed after them like sheep. He did feel important, and to listen to grown men talk made him feel as if he were older than he was. He had always wished for an older brother, someone he could look up to and who would make him feel important. For now, Concho was that older brother.

  When the sun rose, they could see the dust cloud raised by the cattle and horses. The dust was filled with swirling ribbons and tendrils of gold and peach, the small grains shining in the sunrise like tiny jeweled insects. To Randy, it was a magnificent sight. It meant that a mighty herd of cattle was on the move and men were guiding them into unknown country. He would have liked to be part of that group of drovers, a man among men, but he knew he was far from living up to their standards. Unlike the hard-bitten men he rode with now, the cowhands were a breed apart. They were men who worked for a living and did not drink or carouse on a daily basis. They were men who took pride in chasing down a cow, roping a steer, and burning a brand into its hide. They were the kind of men he could learn from and Dane was the kind of man he might have grown to be if he had taken a different path. But he knew he was young and foolish and when Throckmorton had recruited him to spy on Kramer and the Circle K, that had made him feel important and wanted. And now Concho had wanted him to ride in the front of the column with him.

  Oh, he knew why, but that didn’t make any difference. Concho wanted him to identify all the men on the drive and point out, especially Dane Kramer. But he was being paid for it, maybe not cowhand’s wages, but enough to make him feel that Concho and Throckmorton needed him. Maybe, when his job was finished, he could go somewhere and hire on as a cowhand and forget his past as a spotter for a band of outlaws. That was what he wished as he watched the sun rise and could smell the cattle in the drifting dust, see the land spread out before him all green and gentle, the dew still glistening on the grass like tiny crystal beads.

  “Lem,” Concho said, after a time, “tell Mitch and the others to widen way to the left of us and go on ahead. Tell ’em I said to wait for us somewhere between Stillwater and Tulsa. But don’t let nobody get within sight of the herd.”

  “You ain’t goin’ to jump nobody until we cross over into Kansas, right?”

  “That’s right. Kramer’s going to run his cattle until just before dusk, then bed ’em down. I doubt if they’ll make it as far as Stillwater, but they might. Me and the kid are going to ride in for a closer look just so’s I know where Kramer is ridin’.”

  “You want me to go with Mitch and them?” Lem asked.

  “No, you ride with me and the kid. Might need you.”

  “Sure, boss,” Lem said, and slowed his horse so that he would drop behind.

  When the others caught up to him, he spoke to Mitch and Lyle, the first two riders in the column. He told them what Concho had said and they nodded and swung wide to the left as Mitch passed along Concho’s orders to the rest of them.

  Concho slowed his horse so that Lem could catch up. He watched as his men took a path well off to his left. He watched them until they disappeared and then breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Now we don’t have to worry about them until nightfall. And it’s less likely any of those drovers will spot us.”

  “I think the cattle are slowin’ down, Concho,” Lem said. “Listen to them wagons.”

  “Kramer’s probably lettin’ the cows do some grazin’. Then he’ll start ’em out again and eat up some miles.”

  The morning wore on and the three men slowed their horses to a walk. The dust cloud thinned as the cattle snatched up grass and moved on at a slower pace. They crossed a creek and figured that the cattle would slow even more while they drank at the stream.

  There, the horses drank from the creek as well. Lem and Concho built smokes and lit their quirlies while Randy looked at the leaves of the trees and watched them giggle and twist in the morning breeze. The air was fresh and scented with wildflowers and far-off fields of corn and wheat that were just beginning to emerge from the earth. He felt good and relaxed as the occasional strand of smoke scratched at his nostrils. The aroma of grown men, he thought. And he could smell their horses too and the leather of their saddles and bridles.

  The two men finished their smokes and they all crossed the creek. The horses’ hooves splashed water and Randy could see tiny rainbows in the spray. They left dark splotches of water on the banks and then they were in grass and the muffled sound of the horses’ hooves was soothing to him as he rode with Lem and Concho.

  Finally, when the sun was at its noon height, Concho looked to his right and saw no more dust blowing in the breeze.

  “Noon stop, I reckon,” he said.

  “Could be,” Lem agreed.

  “Lem, you keep on our track until you see that herd raise dust again. The kid and I are goin’ to mosey over closer for a look-see.”

  “Okay,” Lem said. “You be careful, Concho.”

  “We’ll take it real slow. Just goin’ to watch awhile and see what’s what.”

  “Do some scoutin’,” Lem cracked with a slow grin. He spurred his horse and rode off.

  Concho turned to Randy. “Ready to do some spottin’, kid?”

  “Sure, Concho. I wish you’d call me by my real name, though. I hate ‘kid.’”

  “All right, Randy. Come along. We’re going to sneak up on that herd and then I’ll put the glass on ’em and hand you the binoculars whilst you point out who’s who and who’s where.”

  “I’ll do it, Concho,” Randy said.

&
nbsp; “Mind you, we may have to ground-tie our horses and crawl on our bellies for a ways.”

  “That’s okay with me, Concho.”

  The two rode over until they saw the brown sea of cattle. There was a rider moving along the left flank of the herd, and every so often he would stop and scan the horizon with a long black object.

  “That’s the outrider a’lookin’ for us,” Concho whispered to Randy. “He’s got a spyglass and he could spot a wart on your nose from where he’s at.”

  “I don’t have no wart on my nose,” Randy said in a whisper.

  “Hunch down in the saddle,” Concho ordered as he did the same. “Wait until he rides on. Likely he won’t look back.”

  Randy hunkered down over his saddle horn, which pressed into his chest so hard it became painful.

  The outrider rode on. The herd moved slowly forward.

  Still, Concho waited.

  He waited until he saw the chuck wagon rumble up into view, followed by the supply wagon. Then he saw the remuda, the horses all on a long rope, following the wrangler single file.

  He raised the binoculars to his eyes as he sat up straight in the saddle. He swept the glass over the wagons and the wrangler.

  “Here, you take a look, Randy boy. Tell me who’s a-drivin’ that chuck wagon and the man on the supply wagon, then look at the wrangler with the horses. See if you know any of ’em.”

  Randy sat up straight. Concho passed the binoculars over to him and Randy held them up to his eyes without slipping the strap around his neck. He took his time and looked at each wagon, then settled on the wrangler leading the horses.

  “Well?” Concho asked when Randy handed the field glass back to him.

  “Looks like a Chinaman settin’ on the chuck wagon seat. Don’t know him. Never seen him before.”

  “That’s what I thought. It’s a Chink and I seen him before. He worked for Len Crowell, a damned sodbuster. How about the man on the supply wagon?”

  “I think that’s Jim Recknor. Looks like him.”

  “And what about the horse wrangler?”

  “Don’t recognize him at all. But he could be one of those Mexicans Joe Eagle is always talkin’ about.”