The Omaha Trail

by Ralph Compton

  The two men finished digging and looked over at Paddy and Dane. They leaned on their shovels beside the grave to show that they were through digging.

  “Take off Lester’s gun belt and go through his pockets, then set him in the grave,” Paddy said.

  “Shouldn’t we wrap him a blanket or something?” Whit asked.

  “See what can you find in the supply wagon,” Paddy said. “And tell anybody you see we’re layin’ Lester to rest, case they want to show their respects.”

  Whit nodded and dropped his shovel next to the pile of dirt. Pete knelt down beside Lester’s body and unbuckled his gun belt. Then he searched through his pockets and laid cigarette papers, matches, and a bag of makings beside the holstered pistol. He found some change in one of his front pockets and hefted it as he stared at the coins.

  “He didn’t have much,” Pete said.

  “No wallet, no greenbacks?” Paddy asked.

  Pete shook his head. “Nary,” he said.

  “Put all his stuff in an empty flour sack and stow it in the supply wagon,” Paddy said.

  Joe Eagle returned a few minutes later. He stood with Paddy and Dane as Pete and Whit cut up two potato sacks and wrapped Lester’s face and torso with one, his legs with the other.

  “That’ll have to do,” Whit said. “You get his feet,” he said to Pete.

  The two men lifted the corpse and laid it in the shallow grave. The body looked grotesque with the sacking material wrapped around it. They straightened Lester’s body and crossed his arms across his midsection. They picked up their shovels, but neither man wanted to be the first to throw dirt on his friend.

  “You go ahead, Pete,” White said.

  “No, you do it first, Whit.”

  Whit filled his shovel with dirt and swung it over the grave. He tipped it so that the dirt fell on Lester’s boots.

  “That’s a start,” Paddy said dryly. “Get on with it. Lester don’t feel nothin’.”

  There was the scrape, the rustle of sand hitting the body, and at the last, Whit covered Lester’s burlap-swathed head and cringed as the dirt covered up the last glimpse of Lester’s dead body.

  “Rest in peace,” Paddy said as he removed his hat.

  The others took off their hats. Joe stood there like a statue, his face rigid as iron. He did not remove his hat, but he looked up at the sky and closed his eyes for a brief moment.

  Pete and Whit shoveled the rest of the dirt over the grave until there was a mound of dirt.

  “Better cover that dirt with some rocks,” Paddy said. “Make it harder for the critters to get at it.”

  Pete and Whit scouted for rocks and finished off the grave with what they had found.

  “Okay, boys,” Paddy said. “Get on your horses and get this herd movin’. Me and Dane will ride point. Joe, you can come along if you like.”

  “I ride flank,” Joe said. “Ride for Lester.”

  Dane was deeply touched by what Joe Eagle had said. He could not think of a finer tribute for Lester than to have a man take his place so that few would notice the missing man.

  He felt tears well up in his eyes and turned away to get on his horse.

  “Let’s make the Caney, Paddy,” Dane said as they took the point. “Camp there tonight and cross into Kansas tomorrow after the other herd catches up with us.”

  “Good,” Paddy said. “We could all use a little extry rest.”

  “Tonight, double up on the nighthawks, and nobody sleeps,” Dane said.

  “That what you call rest?” Paddy asked.

  “I call it a precaution, Paddy.”

  “That’s a two-bit word for certain sure,” Paddy said.

  Dane let out a small laugh.

  The Caney River was not far, he knew, and yet he also knew that with each mile the herd traveled, the more danger they were in. If Concho had any hint that the other herd was going to join up with them, he could strike at any time. He might not even wait until they got over the border into Kansas.

  The only thing worse than a skulking coward like Concho was a desperate one. Greed drove men like Throckmorton and Concho. Greed for other men’s possessions. Neither man would stop short of his avaricious goals.

  And Dane was bound to stop them and make them pay for what they had done.

  As he rode, he formed mental pictures in his mind, and the jigsaws of his ideas all began to fall into place and fit neatly into a plan of battle.

  A battle to the death, with no quarter given.

  Chapter 39

  Just south of the Kansas border, Dane saw the Caney River shining in the late afternoon sun. He rode well ahead of Paddy and the head of the herd. He stopped his horse with a gentle tug on the reins. Reno whickered low in his throat.

  “Thirsty, boy?” Dane said as he patted the gelding’s withers.

  There was an answering whicker, more pronounced this time.

  He surveyed the land bordering the river and then turned his horse to ride back and talk to Paddy.

  “Good graze, Paddy, and water. Let’s bed the herd down up yonder.”

  “Good country,” Paddy said. “I’ll pass the word.”

  Even though it was early in the day, they drove the cattle to the river and let them stretch out the caravan and drink. Alfredo brought the remuda up and let the horses slake their thirst. The skies had cleared and there was blue, dotted with puffy clouds floating in all directions. The chuck wagon pulled up in the wide meadow and Wu set the brake, hopped down, and began searching for stones to make a fire ring. The supply wagon, with Charley Moss at the reins, pulled up behind the chuck wagon. Charley set the brake and wrapped the reins around the handle. He glared at Wu Ling but said nothing. He started scraping the mud off the fetlocks of the horses pulling the wagon and checked their shoes for caked dirt.

  Drovers drifted away from the herd and rode back to where the wagons were parked. They dismounted near Charley and watched as Wu scoured the bank of the river for driftwood.

  “Ain’t any of you boys goin’ to help that Chink gather wood for the campfire?” Steve asked.

  “I ain’t helpin’ that Chinese do nothin’,” Charley said. “Let him gather firewood and kindlin’ all by hisself.”

  The other men looked at Charley and nodded in agreement.

  “How come?” Steve asked. “He ain’t done nothin’ to you, has he, Charley?”

  “He’s a damned jinx,” Charley said.

  “Huh?” Steve said.

  “Yeah, I think Charley’s right,” Dewey said. “We lost three men and Wu there is just plain bad luck. We ought to have brung Gooch with us to cook.”

  The other men had begun to grumble among themselves when Dane walked up to see what was going on.

  “When that Chink cooked for Len Crowell, they lost their whole damned herd,” Charley said. “We got us a real Jonah with us.”

  “Not so loud,” Steve said. “He might hear you.”

  “I don’t give a damn what he hears, that slant-eyed son of a bitch,” Charley said. “I tell you he’s got us all jinxed.”

  “What’s all this about?’ Dane asked. “Are you talking about Wu Ling?”

  “Charley thinks Wu is a jinx,” Steve said.

  Dane looked at Charley. “That’s a serious claim, Charley,” Dane said. “Maybe you’d better explain where that’s comin’ from.”

  “Hell, it’s as plain as the nose on your face, Dane. You switched cookies on us, and we got the Chink. Since he come here, we’ve had three good men shot and kilt. Now, it don’t take no tea leaves to tell me Wu is the cause of all this. Hell, if Barney had been our cookie, none of this would have happened.”

  “What makes you think Wu is a jinx?” Dane asked. More men began to gather around, drawn by the loud voices. Even Paddy rode up when he saw what he thought was some kind of argument or gripe session among the drovers.

  “What happened to Crowell’s herd on his first cattle drive, and now he’s lost his home and his spread and dumped his cook on us. I
tell you, we got us a Jonah here, Dane. Wu’s brought us nothin’ but bad luck.”

  “Charley,” Dane said as he looked not only at Charley, but at all the other men, “you’re plumb full of shit.”

  Charley reared his head back as if he had been slapped with a wet shaving strop. He sputtered and spluttered.

  Paddy, who had overheard the last exchange, shouted down at his men, “Well, if you think that, boys, why don’t you ask Len Crowell? There he is yonder, comin’ up on us with a thousand head of cattle.” Paddy pointed back down the trail they had traversed.

  All heads turned to see Len Crowell riding point and a wave of white-faced cattle in his wake, their horns shooting off sparks of sunlight as if they were an army charging into battle, waving swords above their heads. The men were silent for a long moment, then loosed a rousing cheer.

  “And anyway,” Paddy continued, “it wasn’t Len what foisted Wu Ling on us, but Dane who made the switch. Ain’t that right, Dane?”

  Dane spoke up as Len continued to get closer to them.

  “That’s right,” he said. “I made the decision, and Wu didn’t have nothin’ to do with Crowell losin’ all his cattle or his ranch. Wu had nothin’ to do with either, and you boys ought to be ashamed of yourselves for accusin’ a man like you’re doin’.”

  “Well, let’s just ask Len what he thinks,” Charley said.

  “You go right ahead, Charley,” Dane said. “But if Wu quits on us, I’ll blame you, and by the gods, you’ll draw your pay and head on back home.”

  Dane walked away from the group and went out to meet Len. He held up his right hand in greeting.

  “What’s goin’ on, Dane?” Len asked as he rode up. “You boys havin’ some kind of meetin’.”

  “Sort of. Come on over and join the discussion. Good to see you. Just run your cattle in with the other herd. We’ll finish the drive with all three thousand head.”

  Dane turned and walked back to the supply wagon. Len followed on horseback.

  “Howdy, Len,” Paddy said.

  “Howdy to you, Paddy,” Len said.

  “One of the boys has a question for you,” Paddy said. “Charley, go right ahead and ask Mr. Crowell, does he think Wu Ling is a jinx?”

  “What?” Len exclaimed. He pushed his hat back on his head.

  Charley stepped out.

  “I think that Chink cook is bad luck,” he said. “We’ve had three men kilt since he come on. I don’t know if he sends signals to Concho and his outlaw killers with the cook fire or what. I think he jinxed your herd too.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Len said. “That’s the craziest thing I ever herd. Wu Ling is one of the best cooks in the territory, and I’d take him on any drive I made if I had cattle to sell.”

  “See, Charley?” Dane said. “You better shed that cockeyed idea of yours. Concho is the damned jinx. And he’s in cahoots with that crooked banker, Earl Throckmorton. Wu Ling doesn’t have anything to do with the killings. You’re blamin’ the wrong man.”

  “Well, I don’t know,” Charley said. He looked down at his boots and started worrying the grass and the dirt with a scuff one his heel.

  “Oh, Charley,” Steve said, “swaller whatever you got in your damned craw and lay off the Chinese cook. What happened to us ain’t none of his doin’.”

  The others grunted in assent and Charley looked sheepish. “I guess it don’t make no difference what I think,” he said, but his voice was barely audible.

  The cattle herd started running to the river as Len waved them on. Soon the whitefaces were streaming past on both side of the wagons and merging into Paddy’s herd.

  Paddy drew Len aside and Dane walked over with them.

  “I saw the graves,” Len said. “Tough luck.”

  The three of them watched as the other men, including Charley, walked to the river and started walking along the bank and snatching up pieces of driftwood. Wu began to stack the wood in separate piles, the driest ones in one pile, the soggy ones in another.

  “Looks like we done got through that briar patch,” Paddy said.

  Dane looked up at Len. “We’re beddin’ down the herd early, Len,” he said. “From now on, we got just one herd. Tonight, all hands will ride nighthawk rounds and do guard duty.”

  “You think Concho’s going to try and rustle all the cattle?” Len asked.

  “Yes, but not now. Soon enough, he’ll see that we have all the herd together and more men to fight him.”

  “So he won’t attack us?” Len said.

  “I think he’ll wait until we’re over the border. Maybe tomorrow, or the next day. He wants these cattle. Throckmorton wants them, and he wants the Circle K. So Concho won’t give up. But I’ve got a surprise for him.”

  “You do? What?” Len asked.

  Dane smiled. “When the time comes. I’m still working things out in my head.”

  Chub waved to Dane and Paddy as he rode past on the way to the river. The firewood piles grew higher.

  “I’ll let my horse drink and see you later,” Len said. He followed Chub to the river.

  “It feels good to have the whole herd all together,” Paddy said. “It’ almost feels like we’re back on the Circle K.”

  “Water your horse, Paddy. I’m going to set down near the chuck wagon and wait for Wu to make some hot coffee.”

  “See you in a while, then, Dane.”

  Paddy rode off and Dane walked over to Wu. “Need any help, Wu?” he asked.

  Wu bent over the fire ring and, with his knife, started shaving sticks into dry kindling. He looked up at Dane, his moon face devoid of expression.

  “Me no jink,” he said.

  “Jinx, Wu, jinx.”

  “No jinx.” He grinned.

  “No, you’re not. The men are just itchy, that’s all. They got to blame someone for all the bad that’s happened, and you were just right handy.”

  “I know. It is the same in China. Man get mad at other man. Other man not there. So man get mad at wife. Wife not there, man get mad at kids.”

  Dane laughed. “I guess it’s the same everywhere. We have to blame someone for our troubles. Sometimes we pick the easiest target.”

  “Wu get mad, he kick can, or hit pan. Anger fly out door.”

  “You’re a wise bird, Wu,” Dane said.

  “You kill Concho?”

  “I’ll kill him if he comes after me or any of the men.”

  “Good. No kick can. Kick Concho.”

  The two men shared the next laugh.

  “Make coffee soon,” Wu said. “Cook big meal tonight.”

  The other cook wagon rumbled up. Barney Gooch waved and halted behind the supply wagon. He set the brake, wound the reins around the handle, and jumped down. Behind him rode the two Mexicans and the remuda, and behind them the supply wagon rolled to a stop behind Gooch’s wagon.

  “Looks like a danged rendezvous,” Barney said. “Howdy, Wu. Need any help? We got dry wood in the supply wagon. Been gatherin’ it all day.”

  “Sure,” Wu said. “Make big fire. Cook many meals.”

  Barney laughed. “God, it’s good to be with all my friends,” he said.

  “Make yourself at home, Barney,” Dane said, and sat down with a wagon wheel at his back.

  He looked out at the western sky. The clouds were turning pink and gold on their undersides, and the sun threw long shadows across the prairie. The grass was almost belly-high and the cattle grazed like slow-moving statues. It seemed a land of peace and contentment at that moment.

  Dane plucked a chaw from his pouch and closed his eyes as he chewed.

  It was enough to make a starving man feel full, although he had not yet eaten. He listened to the clank of pans and the soft fall of feet on the grass as Barney and Wu prepared to cook the evening grub.

  If Concho was watching them, Dane thought, he’d know he needed an army to rustle three thousand head of cattle.

  And even then, Dane knew, he would lose.

  Wu w
asn’t a jinx.

  He was a good-luck charm.

  Chapter 40

  Logan Heckler rode into Concho’s camp in Kansas singing an old hymn.

  “Shall we gather at the river?” he sang.

  “What are you so jolly about, Heckler?” Concho asked. He and his men sat around a small campfire drinking stale coffee. One or two smoked quirlies, and one man, Dewey, was digging dirt out from under his fingernails with the tip of his knife.

  “They done crossed into Kansas,” Logan said as he swung himself out of the saddle and let the reins fall from his hand. “And that herd has done swolled. I’d say they got about three thousand head, easy.”

  “That was what Throckmorton said Kramer sold to the Omaha buyer. That second herd must have caught up with Paddy’s bunch.”

  “I reckon.” Heckler picked up an empty tin cup and poured it half-full from the battered coffeepot sitting on the coals at the edge of the small fire. “They ain’t tryin’ to cross yet, but are just moseyin’ along, letting the cows and horses graze. There’s lots of grass and lots of big old trees growin’ along both banks. I don’t see no place where they can cross real soon.”

  “Hell, that’s welcome news, Logan,” Concho said. “That river’s nigh two hundred mile long and they got to find a ford.”

  “Well, we got time,” Logan said. “They ain’t more’n a mile or so from where we’re a-settin’, and there ain’t no easy crossin’ where they’re at.”

  “Finish your coffee, boys,” Concho said. “It’s time we rustled us some cattle and killed us some cowpokes.”

  “Hell, we ought to take them horses too,” Mitch said.

  “Yeah, they ain’t gonna need ’em no more,” chimed in Skip. “We can sell ’em to the army or over in Texas. Kind of a bonus.”

  Heckler sat down and sipped his coffee. It wasn’t very hot and it tasted like mud. “This sure ain’t Arbuckles’,” he said.

  “Them ground beans are on their third pass,” Mitch said. “I told Concho it needs a little whiskey to perk it up.”

  “It needs more than whiskey,” Lyle said. “It needs a shot of tequila and some stout brandy.”

  The men all laughed. All except Concho, who was deep in thought. After a moment or two, he turned to Heckler.