The Santa Fe Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “Yeah,” said Vic, “but I reckon that would be stretchin’ Pitkin’s patience to the limit. He’s stuck with two females in the outfit, because they’re kin. What in tarnation would it be like with three more?”

  “I reckon we won’t ever know,” Rusty said, “but I do hope the three of ’em are able to join us on the second watch. Pitkin don’t have to know about that.”

  There was considerable conversation during supper, as Pitkin’s outfit discussed all they had seen and heard. The longhorns, without water at the end of the day’s drive, were in full voice, bawling their frustration. The horses and mules had been given only a little of the available water, but that was better than nothing, and with another small ration before taking the trail the next morning, they would survive.

  “Supper’s ready,” Bonita announced.

  Levi Stubbs sat on a wagon tongue and said nothing. Wiley and Whit wasted no time getting to the supper fire. After the boys took their portions, Bonita, Jania, and Laketa served their own plates. Not until they had all left the fire and settled down to eat did Stubbs take a tin plate and cup and serve himself.

  “Damn him,” said Wiley quietly, “we shouldn’t’ve left him nothin’.”

  “I’m glad we did,” Bonita said. “After the shameful way he acted, he’ll have trouble not chokin’ on every bite.”

  Stubbs was hungry and thirsty, and that overcame his fury. He realized he had played the fool and regretted having done so, but his iron-bound pride forbade his saying or doing anything to make amends. While the girls had prepared supper, Stubbs had watched Wiley and Whit applying the sulfur salve to the rumps of his mules where he had lashed them with the whip. It galled him that Woody Miles had spoken the truth about blow flies worsening the wounds he had inflicted, and he hated them all for having ridiculed him for beating mules that belonged to him. He had accepted their water and their medicine because he’d had no choice, but if the opportunity ever presented itself, he would see that Woody Miles paid. When he had finished eating, he dropped his eating tools, plate, and cup on the ground. It wasn’t quite dark, but Stubbs took his blankets and crawled under his wagon. He hadn’t forgotten how his two sons had sucked up to the Pitkin bunch. If there was a watch, he decided, it would be up to Wiley and Whit.

  “Lookit the old varmint,” said Whit. “Pilin’ up under his wagon to sleep, and it ain’t even dark. That means the watch is up to us.”

  “No,” Bonita said. “We can’t make him do what he ought, but we can keep everything from falling on you and Wiley. The two of you stand watch until midnight, and we’ll take over until dawn.”

  “That’s decent of you,” said Wiley, “but it ain’t your responsibility. It’s for a man to do, but we’re shy one.”

  “That’s why we’re offering to help,” Laketa said. “We’re close enough to the Pitkin camp that they would help us, if there was a need for it. Sometime after midnight, we’ll get word to them Paw’s still got a burr under his tail, and that we’re standing watch for the rest of the night.”

  “That’s smart,” said Wiley. “Do that, so’s me an’ Whit can git some sleep. Just holler long an’ loud if somethin’ goes wrong.”

  Bonita and Jania said nothing, but they smiled their approval at their older sister. Old Levi, in his selfish, evil way, had played into their hands.

  “We’ll have to keep a close eye on the herd tonight,” Woody said, after supper. “It’s likely they’ll keep to their feet and mill around all night, them bein’ thirsty.”

  “They might stampede again, even without thunder and lightning?” Pitkin asked.

  “Yes,” said Woody. “They’re naturally ornery. Add thirst and frustration to that, and anything can happen.”

  “One thing we can do,” Vic said, “is keep any two of them bulls from gettin’ close to one another.”

  “Yeah,” said Gavin. “All it takes is for one of the varmints to hook another, and them that’s closest may stampede at the smell of blood.”

  “I never realized they are such temperamental beasts,” Pitkin said.

  “Little of that comes into play,” said Gavin, “when there’s good water and graze. But on a trail drive, you don’t always have that.”

  “We never had much trouble, drivin’ from Texas north to the railroad,” Rusty said. “After a drive or two, you know where the water is. None of us has ever been down the Santa Fe before.”

  “I can understand that,” said Pitkin, “and I regret that the available maps are of little help. They seemed reliable enough, until after we left Cottonwood Creek.”

  “That’s generally the trouble with early maps of the frontier,” Nip Kelly said. “They’re good about showin’ major rivers, but tell you little or nothin’ about the hard miles from one river to the next.”

  “All the more reason to see that all our water barrels are full, before we leave the next good water,” said Pitkin. “Just do your best with the herd tonight. I expect nothing more.”

  “There’ll be some dewfall later tonight,” Woody said. “If they’ll graze, that’ll help to slake their thirst.”

  By the time Rusty, Vic, and Ash took over the second watch, the herd had begun to settle down. Woody, Gavin, and Nip had managed to separate the troublesome bulls during the first watch. There was some braying from the mules in the Stubbs camp.

  “Longhorns ain’t the only ones that gets ornery when they’re thirsty,” Vic observed.

  “Between their mules and our ornery cows, I hope there’s no trouble,” said Rusty. “I want some time to talk to the Stubbs gals.”

  “Which one you reckon is the oldest?” Ash asked.

  “Laketa,” said Vic. “There’s crow’s feet around her eyes.”

  “Hell, that don’t make her old,” Rusty said. “There’s crow’s feet around my eyes, and I’m just twenty-four. Laketa’s the quietest, and I like her best. Lord, a man could get lost in them big brown eyes.”

  “They all have brown eyes,” said Ash, “but I like Jania.”

  “Then I reckon it’s just as well I like Bonita,” Vic said. “She’s all that’s left.”

  “I wonder what they’d think,” said Rusty, “if they knowed we was pickin’ and choosin’ ’em like heifers at a beef sale.”

  “I reckon they wouldn’t mind too much,” Ash said, “when you consider what a hard-headed, scruffy old varmint their daddy is. I say we talk to ’em like we aim to go courtin’, when we all get to Santa Fe.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” said Vic. “They could do worse. Accordin’ to my figgerin’, that check we got from Pitkin is for a hundred and five thousand dollars. That’s twenty-one thousand for every man of us.”

  “Why don’t we just keep our mouths shut about that?” Rusty suggested. “Me, I want a woman that’s wantin’ me, even though she believes I’m a dirt-poor trail herder. Get too free with your money, and you’ll never be sure that ain’t what she’s after.”

  “That kind of makes sense to me,” said Ash. “Vic, can we count on you to bridle your tongue?”

  “I reckon,” Vic replied. “We may be countin’ our chickens before they’re hatched, anyhow. Them gals may not want any of us.”

  When the Stubbs women arrived, they quietly identified themselves.

  “We’re glad you all could get away,” said Rusty.

  “It wasn’t all that difficult,” Laketa said. “Paw was mad enough to bite himself and die from the poison. Wiley and Whit would have had to stand watch all night. They agreed for us to take the second watch, if we asked you all to look out for us. Will you?”

  “Consider yourselves looked out for,” said Vic. “It ain’t likely anything will happen in your camp, it bein’ so close to ours. We need to stay near the herd, them bein’ restless, and they’re right behind your wagons.”

  “We’re ever so grateful to you for the water,” Bonita said. “How can we ever repay your kindness?”

  “When you get to Santa Fe,” said Vic, “wherever you settle, we’d l
ike to come callin’ in a courtin’ way.”

  The three of them giggled, chattering like excited geese, and Vic wasn’t completely sure they weren’t laughing at him. He said no more, while Rusty and Ash seemed nervous beyond speech. Suddenly the women became serious, and Bonita spoke.

  “We don’t know…what…will happen, after we get to Santa Fe, except we know we’ll have to get away from Paw. But wherever we are, we’d like for you to come calling. You’ll be welcome.”

  “You certainly will,” Laketa said, “but who will be calling on who?”

  “I hope this ain’t gonna be embarrassin’,” said Rusty, “but we kind of already made up our minds. I like you, because I reckon you’re about my age. Well…there’s some other reasons, too, but I ain’t gettin’ into them, with these other two big-eared varmints standin’ here listenin’.”

  Laketa laughed. “I’m twenty-six, and I’ll look forward to you getting into those other reasons.”

  “Bonita,” said Vic, “I’m twenty-three, an’ if I ain’t too old and ugly, I’d admire to see you as often as we can manage it.”

  “I’m twenty-four,” Bonita said, “so if you’re old, so am I. Let’s take a walk.”

  “Ash,” said Jania, “it’s down to you and me. I hope you’re satisfied, because I am.”

  8

  The dewfall had done little to slake the thirst of the herd, and the riders had trouble heading them west. They bawled like a demented chorus, and it was difficult keeping them bunched so they couldn’t break ranks. Many a flank was raked by the horns of an unruly, irritated companion. Ash was riding drag with Nell and Naomi Pitkin, and it was to them that Woody spoke first.

  “You’ll have to push ’em hard all the way. Keep ’em bunched so’s all they can see is the next cow’s behind, while a pair of horns is rakin’ their own.”

  Despite all their efforts, there were bunch quitters, keeping the flank and swing riders busy. While Nell and Naomi had become more adept at heading the animals, they lacked the skill of trail-wise cowboys, and Ash Pryor had his work cut out for him. By the time the sun was noon-high, the riders and their horses were coated from head-to-toe with dust.

  “By God, they’ve run us ragged,” said Gavin, “but their tails is draggin’ too. It won’t be as bad from here on.”

  Gavin was right. The lack of water and their own cantankerous nature had sapped the strength of the longhorns, and they became easier to manage. Their tongues lolled out, and their bawling ceased, for they no longer seemed to care. Mile after weary mile they kept the herd moving. Two hours before sundown, the longhorns smelled or sensed the water ahead, and there was no holding them. The riders could only get out of the way and let the herd run. They waited for Gonzales and Pitkin to catch up with the wagons, and then they moved on toward the three forks of the creek ahead.

  “There’s fish in at least one of the forks of that creek ahead,” said Woody.

  “They’d be mighty tasty for supper,” Vic said, “but how do we catch ’em, scoop ’em up with our hats?”

  “I’ll bet you ten dollars Gonzales has lines and hooks,” said Woody.

  “You’re on,” Vic replied, “and if he has, I’ll sweeten the pot by cleaning all the fish you can catch.”

  They all fell into the spirit of the thing, and riding close to the chuck wagon, Woody shouted at Gonzales.

  “Gonzales, there’s fish in the creek ahead. How many lines and hooks you got?”

  “Muchos,” the Mexican shouted back. “Diez, per’ap.”

  Woody laughed. “Listen up, all of you. There’s fish in the creek ahead, Gonzales has hooks and lines, and Vic’s just volunteered to clean all we can catch.”

  “Whoa, damn it,” said Vic. “I said I’d clean all you can catch.”

  “That ain’t what I heard,” Rusty said.

  “Me neither,” said Ash. “I ain’t been fishin’ in a coon’s age, ’cause I hate cleanin’ the critters. With old Vic takin’ care of that, I’ll catch a good string.”

  “All of you had best be careful around these three forks,” Woody said. “When I was here before, my horse almost stepped on a rattler.”

  Reaching the three forks, they found the cattle had taken over all three, and the water was muddied.

  “Let’s run the varmints out of there,” Gavin said. “They’ve had time to drink, and it won’t clear up with them sloshin’ around in it.”

  But Gonzales had thought of that. He veered away with the chuck wagon, choosing a place to set up camp upstream, well beyond the herd. Pitkin followed with the other wagon. The riders unsaddled their horses, while Gonzales and Pitkin unhitched the teams.

  “We’ll hold the horses and mules a few minutes,” Woody said. “They ought to cool some before they drink, after bein’ dry for so long.”

  The Stubbs wagons circled wide, going well beyond the Pitkin camp. When Woody judged it was safe for the horses and mules to drink, they were turned loose. Thirsty as the animals were, they took the time to roll before going to the creek. Rusty and Ash had wasted no time getting hooks and lines from Gonzales. The Mexican had also given them bacon strips for bait.

  “Anybody wantin’ to fish, come on,” Rusty shouted. “Gonzales is greasin’ the skillet, and he ain’t gonna wait forever.”

  Except for Gladstone Pitkin and Gonzales, everybody got into the spirit of it, walking upstream past the Stubbs wagons. Stubbs sat on a wagon tongue, while Wiley and Whit leaned against the front wheels of their wagons.

  “Wiley, Whit,” said Woody, “there’s fish in this creek. We have extra lines, hooks, and bait. You’re welcome to join us.”

  “We ain’t takin’ nothin’ from you,” Stubbs snarled.

  “I wasn’t offering you anything,” said Woody coldly. “I spoke to Wiley and Whit.”

  “We’re obliged, and we’ll go with you,” Wiley said. “A mess of fresh fish would sure be welcome.”

  There were sun perch and catfish, and within an hour, more than enough fish had been caught. Wiley and Whit returned to their camp triumphant, each with a decent string of fish. “I reckon we’ll have to pitch in and help old Vic clean these fish,” Woody observed. “It’s hard work, cleanin’ catfish.”

  “Why are catfish more difficult to clean?” Naomi asked.

  “They have to be skinned,” said Gavin, “and it’s a two-man job.”

  Despite the bet between Woody and Vic, everybody pitched in and helped clean the catch. Gonzales had two fires going and two frying pans ready. He dunked the fish in cold water, rolled them in corn meal, and then fried them a golden brown.

  “I got to admit I ain’t never been fed this well on a trail drive,” Rusty said.

  It was a sentiment with which everybody else agreed, and even Gladstone Pitkin seemed to have overcome his aggravation with the outfit. Gonzales beamed, continuing to fry fish until nobody could eat any more.

  “Thank God we ain’t got to listen to them bellerin’ cows all night tonight,” said Vic.

  “The Santa Fe is unfamiliar to us,” Woody replied. “We could be facing a dry camp at any time. We were lucky last night. When a herd’s mad for water, anything can stampede ’em. Even somebody sneezing.”

  The three Stubbs girls again visited Rusty, Vic, and Ash on the second watch, and they were jubilant.

  “Thank you so much for inviting Wiley and Whit to go fishing,” Laketa said. “The fish were a welcome treat.”

  “More than that,” said Bonita, “it gave Wiley and Whit a chance to stand up to Paw. They’ve always taken his orders, however selfish and foolish they were. Now I feel they’re finally becoming men.”

  “That’s what it takes,” Vic said. “If a gent wants to be treated like a man, he’s got to stand up on his hind legs and act like one.”

  After breakfast the following morning, Woody again asked Pitkin to spread the map so they might get some idea where they would find the next water.

  “The Little Arkansas,” Pitkin said, “but how far is it?”r />
  “We can’t tell from this map,” said Woody, “but I’ll know after riding to it. If there’s any possibility of reaching it today—even if we arrive after dark—then I think we ought to make the sacrifice. An occasional dry camp is bearable, but it’s a mite soon for another. There was some lightning last night, and there may be more tonight. Worse, if there’s rain somewhere to the west, just a hint of it on the wind can start a thirsty herd running.”

  “We’re traveling west,” Pitkin pointed out.

  “More to the southwest,” said Woody, “and even if they stampede in that direction, you can count on ’em fanning out. We’ll still lose a couple of days rounding ’em up.”

  “Best not to gamble with a thirsty herd and a building storm,” Nip Kelly said. “We’ll be far better off to drive to the next water, even if it’s twenty miles.”

  “Soon as the herd’s movin’,” Woody said, “I’ll ride ahead and see just how far we are from the Little Arkansas.”

  “I smell smoke,” said Gavin.

  “It’s from the Stubbs’ breakfast fire,” Vic said.

  “I don’t think so,” said Gavin. “Look.”

  Somewhere to the west, a plume of gray smoke dirtied the blue of the sky. The wind was from the west, and there was no fire in the Stubbs camp, for Stubbs and his sons were harnessing their teams.

  “Perhaps it is Indians,” Pitkin said.

  “If that’s all it was, we’d be in luck,” said Woody. “Too much smoke on too wide a front. We’re seeing the results of that lightning last night. That’s a prairie fire, and it’s on its way to overtaking us.”

  “What are we going to do?” Nell asked.

  “We’re going to try to reach the Little Arkansas ahead of it,” said Woody.

  “Suppose we just stay here until it passes?” Pitkin asked.