The Santa Fe Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “Pit, there’s the makings of a town west of the fort, along the river. Wiley and Whit aim to take one of the three wagons there and try to sell it, along with the teams and the whiskey. Rusty, Vic, and Ash aim to ride along.”

  “I have no objection,” said Pitkin. “In fact, if there’s a store there, it might be to our advantage to know what they sell. I’m going to the sutler’s, at the fort.”

  “We’ll check out this general store for you,” Vic said. “We’ll need a couple of extra horses, in case Wiley and Whit sell the wagon.”

  Pitkin nodded. Wiley and Whit climbed to the wagon box, while Rusty and Ash began saddling a pair of extra horses. When Pitkin—accompanied by Nell and Naomi— set out for the fort, the wagon, trailed by Rusty, Vic, and Ash, was headed west along the river.

  “This place has got a ways to go,” Vic said, as they neared the cluster of tents along the Arkansas.

  “I reckon,” said Rusty, “but somebody’s got big ideas. Look.”

  A crudely painted sign before a newly erected tent read: Real Estate. Town lots for sale.

  “Tarnation,” Ash said, “look at the size of that general store. I was at a circus once, in St. Louis, and the big top wasn’t as long or as wide as this one.”

  The tent was massive, with more than a dozen uprights down the center supporting the high-peaked top. Surprisingly, there was a nearby corral with half a dozen mules. The saloon tents were smaller, but more gaudy. From one came the out-of-tune jangle of a piano.

  “Jiminy,” said Whit, climbing down from the wagon box, “if we don’t have no luck at the saloons, we kin try the general store.”

  “Yeah,” Vic said. “Pit knew what he was doin’, when he wanted us to have a look at that store.”

  “Go with us to the saloons, first,” said Wiley. “We kin all go to the store together.”

  Rusty caught Vic’s eye, and Vic nodded. They suspected Wiley and Whit, probably on their own for the first time, were nervous and uncertain. The five of them headed for the first saloon. It was still early, and a lone man sat at a table shuffling and dealing cards. He stood up, and Wiley spoke.

  “We’re lookin’ for the owner.”

  “Jeff Sartain at your service. I am the owner.”

  “We got a wagonload of barreled whiskey for sale,” Whit blurted. “We’re sellin’ the whole shebang. Whiskey, wagon, an’ mules.”

  Sartain laughed. “Do I look like I need a wagonload of whiskey? This place won’t be a town till the railroad gets here.”

  “When it does,” said Vic, “you’ll be ready. Who owns the other saloon?”

  “An old fool name of Darby Calhoun, and he’s about as flush as I am. Why don’t you see Jonas McClendon, at the store? He’s been tryin’ to buy out me and Calhoun. That old coyote still has the first dollar he ever got his hands on.”

  “God,” Whit said, “we’re runnin’ out of chances mighty fast.”

  “Sounds like this McClendon might be the man you’re lookin’ for,” said Rusty. “Why don’t we go see him?”

  They entered the enormous tent and stood there in awe. Never had they seen such an array of merchandise on the frontier. The man who came to greet them was in his fifties, in a boiled shirt with tie. There was a white knee-length apron over his dark trousers.

  “I’m Jonas McClendon. What can I do for you?”

  Wiley and Whit seemed suddenly at a loss for words. Wiley finally spoke.

  “I’m Wiley Stubbs an’ this is my brother, Whit. We’re bound for Santa Fe, with three wagonloads of barreled whiskey. We had some trouble an’ lost a teamster, so we’re lookin’ to sell one wagon, the whiskey in it, an’ the teams. Would you be interested?”

  “Maybe,” said McClendon cautiously. “What’s your askin’ price?”

  “We ain’t familiar with prices on the frontier,” Whit said. “Why don’t you tell us the most you’re willin’ to pay, an’ we’ll consider it? The wagon an’ the team is outside.”

  “How much whiskey?” McClendon asked.

  “Ten barrels,” said Wiley.

  “A hundred dollars a barrel for the whiskey,” McClendon said, “and five hundred for the four mules, the harness, and the wagon.”

  Wiley and Whit looked at one another, uncertain. They had no idea how much Levi Stubbs had paid for the wagon, the teams, or the whiskey. Wiley caught Vic’s eye, and Vic nodded.

  “We’ll take it,” Wiley said.

  “I’ll want a bill of sale for it all,” said McClendon.

  “Git us pencil an’ paper,” Wiley said, “an’ we’ll write one.”

  While Wiley and Whit—with help from Vic—wrote the bill of sale, McClendon went for the money.

  “Count it,” said McClendon, handing Wiley a canvas bag.

  Wiley upended the bag, pouring double eagles out on the counter. He carefully placed them in stacks of five, until there were fifteen stacks.

  “We’re obliged,” Wiley said, returning the gold coins to the sack.

  McClendon studied the bill of sale which both Wiley and Whit had signed. He nodded his head, and the sale became final. It was time for Vic to speak.

  “I’m Vic Brodie, and these honibres is Rusty and Ash Pryor. We’re riders for the Pitkin outfit. Wiley and Whit are trailin’ with us. The three of us and our three pards are trailin’ a herd of Texas longhorns to Santa Fe for Gladstone Pitkin. I reckon you got more goods than the sutler at Fort Dodge. We’ll likely stop and do some business with you, as we take the trail to Santa Fe.”

  “You’ll be welcome,” said McClendon. “Dodge will be a railroad town, and I aim to be ready. Until then, there’s the soldiers from the fort. It’s almost up to strength, and yes, I have a far better stock of goods than the sutler. I have to, if I’m going to get the soldier trade.”

  “We’ll likely be seein’ you tomorrow, then,” Vic said. The five of them were about to leave the store, when they noticed a glass case with a variety of jewelry. Being of a single mind, Rusty, Vic, and Ash stopped to look.

  “Marryin’ rings,” Vic said. “What would the girls say, if we stopped here and bought each of ’em one?”

  “Why don’t we do it, and find out?” said Rusty.

  “I’m game,” Ash said.

  McClendon had noted their interest and was standing hopefully by.

  “How much is these marryin’ rings?” Vic asked.

  “Ideally,” said McClendon, “they come in sets. There’s a diamond engagement ring the lady wears immediately, to show she’s spoken for. Then, on the day she marries, she adds the gold band. You can get a respectable set—with a small diamond—for less than fifty dollars. The very finest ones, with large diamonds, are three hundred dollars.”

  “I hope you got three sets of them three-hundred-dollar ones,” Rusty said. “Ash, Vic, and me is each goin’ to need one, I reckon. Believe it or not, these Stubbs hombres, ugly varmints that they are, has got three beautiful, brown-eyed sisters. We aim to each get our brand on one of ’em before they get to Santa Fe.”

  “Excellent,” said McClendon. “Bring the young ladies in, and I will guarantee a perfect fit.”

  “God,” Wiley said, when they had left the store, “you fellers aim to spend that kind of money on Stubbs women?”

  “Yeah,” said Vic, “and I’m proud of the opportunity.”

  “We aim for it to be a surprise,” Rusty added. “If either of you breathes a word of it to ’em, we’ll beat your ears down around your boot tops.”

  Whit laughed. “We won’t say nothin’. I got to see the looks on their faces when they git a look at such finery.”

  “Yeah,” said Wiley. “Paw never bought any of us anything we could do without, and he never told us nothin’ unless he had to. We might of took a beatin’ on the whiskey, the mules, an’ the wagon, because we got no idea what he paid for any of it.”

  “Maybe,” Vic said, “but I don’t think so. The whiskey might go for a hundred and fifty dollars a barrel in Santa Fe, but this ain’
t Santa Fe. Pitkin paid less than a hundred for each of his wagons, and no more than a hundred apiece for the mules.”

  “Yeah,” said Ash, “you won’t be goin’ into Santa Fe broke. You’ll have money that’ll see you through a year, if need be, until you’ve had a chance to sell the rest of that whiskey for the best price you can get.”

  “One thing we aim to do,” Wiley said, “is buy a pair of water barrels we can mount on the outside of our wagon boxes.”

  “Vic,” said Rusty, “there’s somethin’ we need to discuss with Woody, so’s he can talk to Pit about it. With Wiley, Whit, and the girls trailin’ with us, they should be taking all their meals with us. Don’t you reckon?”

  “Yeah,” Vic said “If I’m investin’ three hundred pesos in a gal, I want her where I’m sure nothin’ will happen to her.”

  “We still have considerable grub we can add to the chuck wagon,” said Wiley, “and now we got money to buy more. If Mr. Pitkin allows us to eat with you, be sure you tell him we’ll pay for our share of the grub.”

  “Yeah,” Whit said. “Gonzales can cook better’n any of us, includin’ the girls.”

  “Damn it,” said Vic, “don’t go tellin’ me I’m sparkin’ a gal that can’t cook better’n a Mejicano.”

  Rusty laughed. “If you think more of your belly than you do of Bonita, maybe you’d better marry Gonzales. I bet he’d go for a set of them rings.”

  “By God,” Vic said, “I’m goin’ to pretend you ain’t ignorant enough to have said a disgraceful thing like that, and if you was fool enough to’ve said it, then I’ll pretend that I didn’t hear it.”

  They all laughed, slapping their dusty thighs with their dusty hats, until Vic replaced his offended look with a grin, and laughed with them.

  Pitkin listened with interest as Rusty, Vic, and Ash spoke of the enormity of the tent-housed general store in the fledgling village that would become Dodge City.

  “The sutler’s store is somewhat limited in its selection of goods,” Pitkin said. “We’ll take the time to visit McClendon’s store tomorrow.”

  The three Stubbs girls had watched enviously as Nell and Naomi had accompanied their father to the fort. Never had they been allowed to visit a store, not even to look. Great was their surprise when Wiley and Whit sought them out.

  “We got fifteen hunnert dollars for the wagon, the team, and the whiskey,” Wiley said. “Split five ways, that’s three hunnert dollars apiece.”

  “You’d divide the money with us?” Bonita asked wonderingly.

  “We aim to,” said Whit. “You’re our kin, an’ you’re all entitled.”

  In a burst of affection he had never experienced, Bonita threw her arms around him.

  “Damn it, woman,” Whit mumbled, “stop slobberin’ on me.”

  On the tailgate of one of the remaining wagons, Wiley counted out the money. There were five stacks of double eagles, fifteen to a stack. For a while, none of them touched the money. It was Laketa who finally spoke.

  “We never had anything, because Paw never wanted us to have anything. It would be a mortal sin to say I’m glad he’s gone, but now there’s hope for us being something more than white trash.”

  “You’re all goin’ to be considerable more than that,” Wiley said. “Don’t waste any of that money at the sutler’s store. Save it for the big general store where we sold the mules, the wagon, an’ the whiskey.”

  After reporting to Pitkin, Rusty, Vic, and Ash went looking for Woody. Quickly they explained their idea of allowing the Stubbs family to take their meals with Pitkin’s outfit.

  “They already have considerable grub they’ll put in the pot,” Vic explained, “and they got money to help pay for anything else Gonzales may need.”

  “You got it all figured out,” Woody said. “All I have to do is sell Pitkin on the idea. While I’m neck-deep in that, is there anything else I can do for any of you?”

  “Matter of fact, there is,” said Rusty. “We each got twenty-one thousand comin’ from the sale of the herd. We each want five hundred dollars for that visit to the general store tomorrow.”

  “You aim to do some big spending, I reckon,” Woody said.

  Ash laughed. “You won’t believe what we have in mind.”

  “Yeah,” said Rusty. “I hope it ain’t too rough on you and Gavin.”

  They said no more, leaving Woody to wonder what they had in mind. He decided to go ahead and speak to Pitkin about the Stubbs family, and while he was about it, he would ask for the money Rusty, Vic, and Ash had requested. Fortunately, Pitkin seemed in a jovial mood.

  “I have no objection to such an arrangement,” Pitkin said, “as long as they’re willing to contribute some foodstuffs. In all fairness, I must say the Stubbs ladies accounted for themselves favorably during the Comanche attack.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way,” said Woody, “because I thought so too. There’s just one more thing. Rusty, Vic, and Ash each want five hundred dollars when we reach the general store tomorrow.”

  “None for Gavin and yourself?” Pitkin asked.

  “I have no idea why we’d need that much,” said Woody, “but I haven’t been to that general store. I reckon you might as well advance Gavin and me equal amounts.”

  Woody told Wiley and Whit the good news. He then told Rusty, Vic, and Ash. They would waste no time in telling the Stubbs girls. Not until suppertime did Pitkin tell Woody of an incident at the sutler’s store.

  “This gentleman’s name was Damon Urbano,” Pitkin said. “He had an unusually strong interest in the herd and the trail we planned to take to Santa Fe.”

  “That’s bad news,” Woody said. “I hope you didn’t tell him anything.”

  “I told him we will be taking the Cimarron Cutoff,” Pitkin said. “I saw no harm in that.”

  “There may not be,” said Woody. “On the other hand he could be a front man for a pack of renegades. It’s not uncommon for a gang to keep a man at the outposts, watching for wagon trains and outfits like ours. When a likely bunch comes along, word is passed to the outlaws, who then decide when and where to attack.”

  “Dash it all,” Pitkin exclaimed, “I had no idea…”

  “No real harm done, I reckon,” said Woody. “You didn’t tell him anything he couldn’t have learned on his own, just by trailin’ us to Cimarron Crossing.”

  After the stranger had talked to Pitkin, he had gone immediately to the on-post building that housed the telegraph. Taking a blank, he addressed it to Tobe Hankins, Santa Fe. The message consisted of one word: Jornada.

  “That’s all?” the telegrapher asked.

  “Yeah,” Urbano said. “How much?”

  “Seventy-five cents.”

  Urbano paid, watched the telegrapher send the brief message, and departed.

  “From now on,” Woody said, after supper, “Wiley will join Gavin, Nip, and me on the first watch. The second watch will include Whit, Rusty, Vic, and Ash. We’ll move out tomorrow at first light, but it’ll be short day. We’ll make camp eight miles upriver, near the general store. Far as I know, it’ll be our last chance before reaching Santa Fe.”

  After supper, when the first watch had taken over, Rusty, Vic, and Ash spent almost an hour with the Stubbs girls. For the first time, they were all part of the same outfit, and spirits were high.

  “We couldn’t believe it,” Bonita said. “Wiley and Whit gave each of us a share of the money they got for the wagon, the teams, and the whiskey.”

  “I’m going to that store tomorrow,” said Laketa, “and buy me some honest-to-goodness female clothes. Something I’ve never had.”

  “So am I,” Jania said.

  “None of you owns any dresses?” Ash asked. “We reckoned you was wearin’ britches and shirts ’cause you was dressed for the trail.”

  Jania laughed. “Paw didn’t believe in female finery. All we have is men’s clothes, and they’re mostly hand-me-downs.”

  “God, yes,” Bonita said, “I want socks and under
wear.”

  “Tarnation,” said Vic, “you mean none of you…. Under them shirts and britches…”

  His face went red, and all the women laughed at his embarrassment. Jania spoke.

  “Under these men’s clothes there’s only bare hide. What did you think was causing all the commotion in the fronts of these shirts?”

  Rusty laughed. “I have noticed considerable activity in them shirt fronts, but I been careful not to give it too much attention. I wouldn’t want to be thought of as less than a gentleman.”

  “Me neither,” said Vic and Ash, in a single voice.

  “Gentlemen have eyes too,” Bonita said. “Each of you has stood up for us, and each of you has spoken for one of us. We don’t know how it is among high-falutin’ town girls, but we want you to be men first, and gentlemen second.”

  “Or perhaps third,” said Jania.

  “Or even fourth,” Laketa added.

  The three of them laughed uproariously, and the three cowboys—taking them at their word—joined in. Nell and Naomi Pitkin heard the laughter, and from a distance, looked on in envy.

  “Head ’em up, move ’em out,” Woody shouted.

  The herd took the trail, the four wagons following. Nell and Naomi continued to ride drag, and they had been joined by Ash Pryor. The longhorns, trailwise, well-watered, and grazed, caused no trouble. Nell and Naomi wasted no time engaging Ash in conversation. While they knew Rusty, Vic, and Ash were more than a little interested in the three Stubbs women, they craved a more intimate knowledge of the relationships. But Ash volunteered nothing, and they found it exceedingly difficult to engage him in conversation about any of the three women.

  “I think it’s kind of you, Rusty, and Vic to spend some time with the Stubbs girls,” Nell said. “They must be terribly upset over what happened to their father.”