The Omaha Trail

by Ralph Compton

  Concho put the glass back to his eyes and looked long at the wrangler. “He’s a Mex all right. I think he’s one of them what works with Montoya raisin’ horses. Don’t know his name, but he’s one of that greasy bunch.”

  “Kramer never had no Mexes workin’ for him that I know of,” Randy said.

  “Likely he scraped the bottom of the barrel with them three,” Concho said.

  He let the binoculars dangle from his neck. “Let’s ride up ahead and see who’s on point and maybe you can tell me who’s ridin’ drag ahead of them wagons and the remuda. If we see a flanker, you see if you know who it is.”

  “Are you lookin’ for anybody in particular, Concho?” Randy asked.

  “Yeah, the trail boss and Dane Kramer. And maybe that half-breed, Joe Eagle.”

  “I know them three,” Randy said.

  They rode on, keeping their distance from the herd, hunkering low in their saddles. Then Concho reined up and they halted.

  “Now look to the tail end of the herd and see if you know who’s ridin’ drag, Randy boy.”

  Randy didn’t like the word boy tacked onto his name any more than he liked kid, but he said nothing. He took the glass from Concho and held it to his eyes. He adjusted the focus and brought the rider roaming the tail end of the herd into sharp view.

  “That looks like Donny Peterson,” Randy mumbled as if he were talking to himself. “Yep, that’s Donny all right. He’s ridin’ back and forth at the rear of the herd.”

  “Keep the glass for a spell,” Concho said. “I see a flanker up ahead. See if you know who that is.”

  They rode on a little farther until Concho stopped again.

  “Fix your eyes on that flanker,” he said.

  Randy looked through the binoculars at a man riding along the left flank of the herd. The man’s horse danced as it drove back any straying cow, and it was hard to see his face under the brim of his hat, which shaded his eyes.

  “I don’t know who that is, for sure, Concho,” Randy said. “Looks like Chub Toomey, but it could be Orville Hanratty. He resembles Toomey somewhat.”

  “Not Kramer, though,” Concho said.

  “Nope. That’s not Dane. That’s either Chub or Orville.”

  “All right, now let’s see who’s ridin’ point. My hunch is you’ll see both Kramer and O’Riley up there. Watch out for that one with the spyglass, though. Stay low in the saddle.”

  They rode on until they had passed the lead cattle in the herd. The outrider with the spyglass had ridden to the other side, apparently.

  Concho halted. “I can just barely make out the riders in the front. You take a look, Randy boy, and tell me who you see.” He handed the glass to Randy.

  Randy adjusted the field glass until the riders came into focus.

  “There’s Paddy,” he said, “ridin’ way up front, and there’s another man with him.”

  “Kramer?”

  “Wait a minute. No, that ain’t Dane neither. I don’t know who it is.”

  “Gimme that glass,” Concho said, traces of both anger and impatience in his voice.

  He looked through the binoculars for a long moment while Randy watched the herd and the point men come closer.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Concho said as he let the binoculars dangle from his neck. “I’ll be double damned.”

  “What is it?” Randy asked.

  “The other man with O’Riley is Lester Pierson. Worked for Crowell. We run them off’n his ranch about a month ago.”

  “You sure?”

  “As sure as anything. That’s Pierson ridin’ right alongside that Irish potato eater.”

  “I don’t think Dane is with the herd,” Randy said after a moment or two of silence between the two of them.

  “I don’t think so either,” Concho said, “and now that I look over that herd, I don’t think there’s three thousand head in it. More like half that number. Maybe more.”

  “What does that mean?” Randy asked.

  Concho turned his horse away from the oncoming herd. Randy followed him.

  “It means we been snookered, that’s what. Kramer has done broke up the herd. He ain’t with this one, so he must be followin’ behind with the rest of his damned cattle.”

  “So, what are you going to do, Concho?”

  Concho scratched his chin and tilted his hat back on his head.

  “I don’t rightly know, kid,” he said. “I got to think on it.”

  Randy asked no more questions as they rode on, well ahead of the herd. Soon, he knew, they would catch up to Lem. Then Concho might talk to him about the situation and maybe they would discuss what to do.

  For now, Randy felt a strange sense of relief that Dane Kramer was not with the first herd. He had outfoxed Concho and Throckmorton. So he must have known that Throckmorton would try and stop him from selling his herd in Omaha and paying off his mortgage.

  Pretty smart of Dane, Randy thought.

  He tried to quell the sense of pride in Dane that was rising inside him. He had no reason to be loyal to a man he had spied on and betrayed, but he did have a strong sense of admiration for Dane that he could not deny.

  He just hoped Concho could not read his thoughts right then.

  Chapter 20

  Joe Eagle rode out to meet Dane. It was still pitch-dark, but the Cherokee breed had an uncanny sixth sense, or so it seemed to Dane.

  “Joe,” Dane said, “do you read human minds like you do animal minds?”

  “Me know much,” Joe said. He looked at Montoya and rode close enough so that the two men could shake hands.

  “Happy you here, Carlos,” Joe said. “You ride with us?”

  “Yes, I ride with you, hermano,” Montoya said. “Maybe we blow out the lamp of that Concho, eh?”

  “Now, now,” Dane said, “let’s not put the cart before the horse. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us and we don’t want to look for trouble.”

  “Concho bad man,” Joe said.

  Wisely, no one else made any comment, and the four men rode into the tail end of the herd, which was still bedded down.

  “Everything all set, Joe?” Dane asked as he swung out of the saddle and walked to the fire the hands had started a short time before his arrival. Several were there warming their cold hands over the blazing flames.

  “All set,” Joe said, from the saddle.

  Len looked over the herd and led his horse over to the supply wagon, where he tied the reins to the left front wheel. Maynard Cuzzins was tying three small barrels together and then securing both ends of the rope to the sidewalls of the wagon.

  “Howdy, Len,” Cuzzins said. “I got two extry wheels and a pile of spokes, like you said.”

  “And all the tools?”

  “Every last one and some extry too, case we need to do some fixin’ on the trail.”

  “Firewood and kindling?”

  “Enough to burn a coupla nights. I ’spect I’ll gather more along the way when we run out.”

  “First night or two, it’s important that we have cook fires.”

  “I know. I done talked to Barney. He said he’d be right frugal with the wood.”

  Len frowned. Frugal was a word cookies seldom used. He wished Wu Ling was on their drive, not Barney Gooch.

  “Well, you have a good ride, Maynard,” Len said, and walked back to the fire where some of the men were waiting for his orders.

  “When do you want me to kick up the lead cattle, Dane?” Len asked.

  “Let’s wait for the streak of dawn in the east, Len,” Dane said. “No use headin’ ’em out in the dark when they don’t know where they’re goin’.”

  “That’s what I figgered,” Len said. “We had a hell of a time last night gettin’ all of ’em to bed down. I think they wanted to follow Paddy’s herd.”

  Dane laughed.

  “Cows are funny,” he said. “They see their brothers head out and think they’re missin’ somethin’.”

  “Ain’t that the truth?”
piped in Chad Ransom, one of Dane’s most experienced hands. He was a Texan from the Rio Grande Valley and stood a head taller than any of the others. “Why, I cut an old cow out of the herd oncet and a dozen follered me all the way to the woodshed. They stood around while I knocked that cow down and butchered her.”

  Everyone at the fire laughed.

  “Where is Rufio?” Montoya asked. “I want to tell him I am here.”

  “He’s probably over by the tank yonder with the horses,” Len said. “Just go on past the chuck wagon and you’ll find him.”

  Montoya left and the men were silent for a few moments.

  “I think we’ve got a good man there, Dane,” Len said.

  “We can use him. As long as he’s not a hothead.”

  “Him no hothead,” Joe Eagle said.

  “I’ll take your word for it, Joe,” Dane said. He plucked tobacco from his pouch just as Barney showed up at the edge of the fire’s glow carrying a big pot of steaming coffee and several tin cups dangling on a length of twine tied to his belt.

  “You clank like a rusty cart, Barney,” Dane said as he put the pouch away without putting tobacco in his mouth.

  “Figgered you all might want some hot coffee afore you start out,” Barney said. “I’ll pick up the cups and pot before we leave.”

  “Thanks,” Dane said.

  One of the men grabbed up the twine and started stripping off cups. Another handed them out to all who were there. Barney poured the coffee in each man’s cup.

  “No shiverin’, now, fellas,” Barney said. “I don’t want you spillin’ good coffee on the ground.”

  Len was the only one who didn’t laugh, but he was reforming his opinion of Gooch. He missed Chang Wu Ling, but he might get along with Barney after all.

  The men blew on their cups, shredding the warm vapors that arose above the rims. They drank slowly and watched the dark and star-studded sky, shifting their weight on first one foot, then the other.

  Dane could see that they were all eager to set out and so was he. But he was determined to wait until sunup. He didn’t want any hitches when he started the drive and he knew the herd would be jumpy, with some cattle breaking away to test the men on horseback. He didn’t want any horses gored by a nervous and frisky whiteface that wanted to return to its home pasture. So many things could go wrong at the start of a drive and along the trail that he wanted it to go smooth. That would build confidence in his men and teach the cattle to behave or get a rope or quirt across their snouts.

  Carlos and Rufio embraced when they met next to the water tank. The horses drank and pawed the ground, bobbed their heads, and whickered softly.

  The two men spoke in rapid Spanish. Carlos told Rufio what had happened in town when Concho and his men had bought horses from him and then headed north before dawn.

  “You must take care, Rufio,” Carlos said. “That Concho is very dangerous.”

  “And he is the man who killed your brother.”

  “He has killed many men, Rufio.”

  “You will kill him, then?”

  “If I see him, I will kill him.”

  “Do you think he will try to steal the cattle?”

  “Yes. I heard him talking to his men. They have many guns and they are going to attack us and they will kill some of us.”

  “We have many men too, and Len told us we must be ready to fight off the rustlers of cattle.”

  “The men with Concho, they are used to killing people.”

  “We can all shoot the rifle or the pistol. We are good shots.”

  “They will sneak up in the dead of night and try to kill us,” Carlos said.

  “I will sleep with the one eye open,” Rufio said.

  Carlos slapped him on the back. “I will be right beside you, amigo, with one of my eyes open.”

  “Then we will have two good eyes open.”

  The two men laughed and then Carlos helped Rufio run a rope through the rings of the halters so that all the horses were tied together. Rufio led them over to where his saddled horse was tied to a post.

  “I will get my horse,” Carlos said.

  “I welcome your presence, my friend,” Rufio said.

  Carlos walked back to the campfire and drank coffee while they all waited for the dawn.

  Dane cleared his throat and held up a hand.

  “Men,” he said, “I want you all to pass the word before we start out. Leonard Crowell here is the trail boss. He is going to choose our route and see that we all work together and carry out our duties. As for me, I’m just along for the ride and to do all the paperwork in Kansas City and Omaha. We’re going on a hell of a journey and our beef cattle are the best in the country. As soon as it gets light, we’ll get this herd going and head north. Good luck to all of you.”

  The men all cheered Dane and he felt his face grow hot and redden.

  Then Len spoke up.

  “I’m grateful to Dane for giving me this opportunity. As some of you know, I lost my own herd on my last drive. I’m determined that this one will be successful. You and all of the other hands have your assignments. If you have any gripes, please come to me so that I can settle them. It’s a long drive, but we should have good weather and the cattle are all healthy and robust. Let’s show the country we pass through that we are cattlemen and know what to do. I’m proud to be your trail boss.”

  More cheers from the men around the campfire. And the word quickly spread, although most of the hands already knew that Crowell was to be the trail boss.

  Dane kept looking at the sky and when he saw the soft blue of the coming day begin to creep up over the horizon, he nodded to Len, who ordered the men to their stations. They all drained their cups and walked to their horses. Len and Dane rode to the front of the herd.

  The eastern horizon began to open up and the stars disappeared as the sky lightened.

  “You pick out a lead cow yet?” Dane asked as they rode along the left flank of the stirring herd.

  “Yep,” he said. “I think she misses the herd that left yesterday. I’ve got a man up there holding her in check. She wants to run off the range.”

  Dane laughed.

  “Good,” he said. “If she continues to lead, you can bell her and we’ll hear that sweet sound all the way to Omaha.”

  “I’ll have it done when we bed down for the night.”

  By the time they reached the head of the herd, most of the cattle were on their feet. They moaned and groaned as if they were eager to set out. Len rode up to the lead cow and chased her away from the herd and pointed her north. His horse, a trained cutter, zigzagged back and forth on her tail as she bellowed. The cows behind her started after her. Dane took the right flank to get out of Len’s way and kept the cattle bunched.

  As he rode along, he watched as all the cattle picked up the pace and followed blindly in the wake of the lead cow. When he looked back, he saw bobbing white faces and horns. He felt a deep satisfaction when the more than one thousand head began to break trail. The flankers turned the bolters back into the herd. He heard the wagons begin to roll, and behind them, the whinny of the horses in the remuda told him that they were on the move as well.

  The cattle followed the track of the first herd for a long while, and when the sun came up, he watched as Len turned the lead cow toward a slightly different track on his left flank. The cattle followed as the drovers shouted and yelled both encouragement and warnings.

  As the sun cleared the horizon and drenched the land in a fiery glow, the dew on the grass sparkled like tiny gems and evaporated. In the distance, he saw the lights of Shawnee Mission come on and smoke rise from the chimneys. They passed isolated homes that were still dark, but on the farms, there were lamps and lanterns lit, and men milked cows and slopped their hogs while women gathered eggs from the henhouses.

  Soon they left the town and the ranch behind and the cattle settled into a steady, brisk walk on new grass, some of them snatching up clumps of gama grass they trudged on, one long car
avan behind a leader they could not see.

  Dane felt a strong feeling of satisfaction swell within his chest. There was a thrill to seeing the herd moving smoothly. The cattle seemed almost eager to be on the trail. He was sure they could smell the spoor of those cattle which had left the day before and this was probably what drove them on with little prodding from the drovers.

  Joe Eagle rode up behind him and they rode alongside each other.

  “What do you think, Joe?” Dane asked.

  “Cows move good.”

  “Any trouble back there?”

  “No, all good, Dane,” Joe said. “Cow leads. Herd follow.”

  They both watched Len continue to turn the lead cow well away from the track of the cattle that had left the range the day before. Soon they were well away from the other trail.

  “Him good boss,” Joe said.

  “He knows what he’s doing all right.”

  “Cows follow him. That good. Heap good.”

  “Joe, by the time we get to Omaha, you’re going to be ready to give a speech.”

  Joe chuckled and shook his head. “Joe Eagle no give speech. Have smoke. Drink firewater.”

  “You can’t drink firewater, Joe.”

  “Smell firewater,” Joe said with a quick laugh.

  “That’s better. I’ll drink for you.”

  “You not worry about Concho?”

  “I won’t worry about him until I see his ugly face.”

  “Maybe not see face. Maybe see only bullet.”

  “A man should not worry about what might happen, Joe. To worry is to be afraid.”

  “That true,” Joe said.

  “To worry is to have fear,” Dane said, “and fear brings failure.”

  Joe made a grunting sound of agreement.

  As the sun rose higher in the sky and the land blossomed with light, Joe drifted back on the flank and Dane rode alone, holding the lead cows to the track Len had set.

  He breathed deeply of the fresh air and felt the cool breeze on his face.

  A man could not ask for much more, he thought. These were his cattle and they were heading for high grass on miles of open prairie. There would be rivers and streams to cross, and his men were all primed to face any dangers that might lie ahead.