Ralph Compton Big Jake's Last Drive

by Robert J. Randisi

  Major Seaforth Bailey waved his arm and his men all turned their mounts and headed back the way they had come, with him leading the way.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Well,” Chance said to Jake, “whadaya think of that?”

  “I think they’ll be back,” Jake said. “That man is too arrogant not to come back with his ‘raiders.’”

  He turned as the other men gathered around.

  “So what do we do now, jefe?” Taco asked as Carlito got down from his wagon and joined them.

  “We get under way,” Jake said, “and we stay ready, because they’re gonna come back.”

  “You do not think they will go away?” Carlito asked hopefully.

  “No,” Jake said, shaking his head definitively. “That kind of man doesn’t give up.”

  “What kind of man?” Curly asked.

  “Arrogant,” Jake said, again. “An arrogant man has to get his way, and won’t give up until he does. Or until somebody stops him.”

  “So who’s gonna stop ’im?” Dundee asked.

  “We are,” Jake said. “Or I am. This is my herd. If any of you want to turn back, or just ride away from this, do it now. I’ll understand.”

  “I won’t!” Chance said. “We’re sure as hell not gonna let Jake face twelve men alone . . . are we?”

  “I am not,” Taco said. “I am with you, amigo.”

  “As am I, jefe,” Desi said.

  Chance looked at Dundee and Curly.

  “Well,” Dundee said, “sure, why not? We’ve come this far.”

  “Yeah, I’m in,” Curly said. “Where else would I go, anyway?”

  They all looked at Carlito.

  “I still have a lot of cooking to do,” he said.

  “Okay, then,” Jake said, “let’s get this herd movin’. Dundee, you take drag—”

  “I’ll take drag,” Chance said. “If they decide to shoot somebody in the back, I don’t want it to be one of these fine young men.”

  “Okay,” Jake said. “Desi and Taco, right flank, Curly and Dundee left. Tie the remuda to the back of Carlito’s wagon.” He turned to Carlito. “Don’t ride too far up ahead of us. I want to keep you close, and safe.”

  “Sí, patrón.”

  “Right,” Curly said.

  They all mounted up and started the herd moving.

  * * *

  * * *

  The twelve riders rode back up and over the ridge, out of sight of the drovers down below. Then Seaforth and Garfield separated themselves.

  “What’d you think of him?” Seaforth asked.

  “Stubborn old buzzard,” Garfield said.

  “Do you think he was bluffing about the rifle?”

  “No,” Garfield said, “I think he was dead serious.”

  “As do I.”

  “So,” Garfield asked, “when do we hit them?”

  “I haven’t decided,” Seaforth said. “I might want to make the old buzzard stew a bit. Did you form any opinions about the other men?”

  “Yes,” Gar said. “The partner is also a stubborn old buzzard. The two young white hands were nervous. The Mexicans weren’t.”

  “That’s good,” Seaforth said. “It’ll work to our advantage if two of them are scared.”

  “I didn’t say they were scared,” Garfield said. “I said they were nervous. There’s a difference.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Seaforth said.

  He turned in his saddle to look at his own men.

  “What about our boys?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are they scared? Nervous?”

  “Some of them are scared, some nervous,” Garfield said.

  “Are they reliable?”

  “Most of them are.”

  “And the ones who aren’t?”

  “They’ll be the first to get killed,” Garfield told him.

  “As long as we take that herd,” Seaforth said, popping a piece of licorice into his mouth. “What about you?”

  “I’m not nervous,” Gar said, “or scared.”

  “That’s good,” Seaforth said. “Neither am I. I guess if we’d felt this way during the war we would’ve made names for ourselves.”

  “We were kids,” Gar said.

  “We were smart then, and we’re smart now,” Seaforth said.

  Garfield didn’t know how smart it was to go after this herd, not when Big Jake Motley had so much invested in it. A man was never so dangerous as when he was on his last legs. But there was no way he could tell Seaforth that.

  “Yeah, well . . .” was all Gar said.

  “Just make sure nobody overreacts,” Seaforth said. “Make sure they key on you and me. I don’t want anybody shooting until we do.”

  “Whatever you say, boss.”

  As Gar turned his horse to ride over to the others Seaforth yelled, “And don’t call me boss!”

  * * *

  * * *

  Jake had his men concentrate on the herd while he kept an eye out in front, and Chance stayed alert behind them. On occasion a few cows would wander off, and one man would go after them, so Jake rode back to tell them to make sure they did everything in twos, just in case. He didn’t want any of them going off alone and being bushwhacked.

  Jake was wondering if Major Seaforth would decide to hit them before they reached San Antonio, or after they passed the town. That would probably depend on whether or not Major Seaforth wanted to take a chance on having to deal with the law there.

  Having considered that, Jake decided to ride back to where Chance was and see if he agreed.

  “Between here and San Antonio?” Chance repeated. “That makes sense. If he’s got Three Rivers under his thumb, like you say, he’s not gonna want to go anywhere near San Antonio.”

  “All right, then,” Jake said. “That means he’ll move somewhere between now and tomorrow afternoon. I’ll tell the men.”

  Chance nodded and waved.

  * * *

  * * *

  We want to hit them before San Antonio,” Seaforth said to Garfield.

  “Obviously,” Gar said. “There’s too much law there. They’ve got a new modern police department, and they still have a sheriff.”

  “Twenty miles,” Seaforth said. “Let’s take them twenty miles before San Antonio. That’ll be tomorrow afternoon. Then we’ll drive the herd back toward Three Rivers.”

  “Then what do we do with them?” Garfield asked.

  “We sell them,” Seaforth said.

  “To who? He’s probably taking them to Kansas, which makes sense. What the hell are we going to do with them in Texas?”

  “Look,” Seaforth said as they sat around a small fire. “We’ll deal with that when the time comes. First I want to take them.”

  Garfield dumped the remnants of his coffee into the fire.

  “Then we better move,” he said, “we’re letting them get too far ahead.”

  “They’re moving slow,” Seaforth pointed out.

  “Then I suggest if you want to hit them before San Antonio, we get ahead of them.”

  “Between them and San Antone,” Seaforth said, standing. “Good idea. Get the men ready. We’ll circle around them so they don’t see us. Let them keep wondering.”

  Garfield said, “Yeah, good idea,” glad that he’d gotten Seaforth to go along while thinking it was his idea.

  * * *

  * * *

  Jake had to circle the entire herd in order to tell Taco and Desi, then Dundee and Curly, what he and Chance had decided. That done, he rode up to Carlito to inform the cook, who had his rifle next to him on his seat.

  “Sí, jefe,” Carlito said, “I will be alert.”

  “Good man,” Jake said.

  “Jefe, there
will be killing, no?”

  “There will be killin’, yes,” Jake said, “if anybody tries to take my herd.”

  “Señor,” Carlito said, “I have never killed a man before.”

  “Then you’re gonna have to make a decision, Carlito,” Jake said. “Fire that rifle, or hide in your wagon.”

  “Sí, señor.”

  “Just remember,” Jake said, “if they take the herd, and they find you in the wagon, they’ll probably kill you . . . or . . .”

  “Or, señor?”

  Jake shrugged.

  “They might just make you cook for them.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  When they stopped the herd and camped for the night, Jake became dead sure the raiders would hit them the next day.

  “I could ride to San Antonio for help,” Dundee said, over the campfire. “It would only take me a few hours.”

  “A few hours to get there, and a few to get back,” Chance said. “We’ll need your gun here.”

  “Two-to-one ain’t great odds,” Curly said.

  “Curly, if you wanna ride out, just say so,” Jake replied. “No hard feelin’s. This is my herd, not yours. Lord knows I ain’t payin’ you enough.”

  “That ain’t what I’m sayin’,” Curly said. “If I cut and run now, that don’t say much about me as a man, and I’d have to live a long time with it.”

  “I agree,” Dundee said. “We gotta stay.”

  Jake looked at Desi. He already knew Taco would be staying.

  “Sí, jefe,” Desi said, “I am staying.”

  “Okay, then,” Jake said, “here’s what I want us to do when they come . . .”

  * * *

  * * *

  After he finished outlining his plan for the attack, they all had more coffee and considered their roles.

  “Carlito,” Jake said, “get the bottle.”

  “Sí, jefe.”

  “Bottle?” Chance said.

  “I had Carlito put a bottle of tequila in the wagon,” Jake said. “I thought we’d have a drink in Dodge City, but if we’re gonna be in a firefight tomorrow, why wait?”

  Carlito returned with the bottle and a big smile. The men all held their cups out—except for Chance.

  “Of course,” Jake said, “I’m just talkin’ about sweetenin’ our coffee.”

  That drew a few groans, but they kept their cups out anyway, and Chance reluctantly did the same.

  “Guess if I’m gonna take a bullet tomorrow, like you said, why not?”

  Carlito put a few drops into everyone’s coffee, and then they all sat back, sipping.

  “We’ll stand watch tonight, though, just in case they decide to come in the dark,” Jake added. “You boys split the herd watch, and Chance and I will stand watch here in camp.”

  As usual, Curly and Dundee took one watch while Taco and Desi took the other.

  “Carlito,” Jake said, “you get some sleep. I want you to make a good breakfast bright and early tomorrow.”

  “Sí, jefe.”

  As Carlito stood up to turn in Jake said, “And take the bottle with you.”

  Carlito grinned and said, “Oh, sí, jefe.”

  * * *

  * * *

  When Curly and Dundee were out with the herd and all the Mexicans had turned in, Jake and Chance sat at the fire and talked.

  “How you holdin’ up, old-timer?” Chance asked.

  “I’m a whole year older than you, you bastard,” Jake said. “I’m fine—a little sore, but so far, so good. What about you?”

  “The same,” Chance said. “I’m breathin’ better these days than I was that first week. A coupla times I thought I’d just choke to death.”

  “Well, thank God you didn’t,” Jake said. “Now you’ll be around tomorrow to get shot to death.”

  “Not a chance,” Chance said. “If I die on this drive it’ll be in the saddle while drivin’ this herd—probably ridin’ drag.”

  “Did you see that fella sittin’ just off that Major’s left shoulder?”

  “I did,” Chance said. “Real steady eyes. I’m peggin’ him as his segundo.”

  “Yeah, I’d keep my eye on him when they come back,” Jake said. “And they’ve probably got a few other good boys.”

  “Taco’s gonna be okay,” Chance said, “and probably Desi. I don’t know about those two kids.”

  “They got good attitudes,” Jake said. “They’ll be fine, especially if they can do what I told them to do.”

  “We’ll have to wait and see,” Chance said. “There may not be time.”

  “I don’t see how those twelve men could hit us without warnin’,” Jake said. “We’re gonna have to see them comin’.”

  “Unless there’s a bottleneck somewhere,” Chance said.

  “I don’t think so,” Jake said. “Not between here and San Antonio, anyway.”

  “You been this way more than I have,” Chance said. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  Chance looked into his cup, licked his lips, then drained the last of his sweetened coffee from it.

  “I’ll take the first watch,” Jake said. “You turn in. Tomorrow’s gonna be a hard day.”

  “The hardest,” Chance said. “We’re cowpunchers, not gunnies, and tomorrow we’re gonna hafta kill or be killed.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Chance turned in and Jake sat and thought about what his friend had said.

  Jake would certainly be sorry if any of his men were killed, but when you took the job driving a herd you accepted the responsibility of doing whatever you had to do to get the cows to market. And they had all made their choice to stay when he gave them the opportunity to leave. So guilt could no longer figure into the situation. Now it just remained to stick to the plan and defend the herd. He was also convinced that Carlito would do what he had to do, despite the fact that he had never killed before.

  In the West, men were faced with that choice every day—kill to eat, or starve; kill to defend yourself, your home, what was yours, or die doing it.

  He poured himself another cup of coffee, wished he had kept the bottle of tequila instead of having Carlito take it to his wagon. He wondered if he would be able to find the bottle without waking the cook, but decided against it. He had made the rules about drinking on the trail. They had all had a taste, and that was that. The rest of the bottle would be saved for Dodge City.

  He only hoped they would all be alive to drink it.

  * * *

  * * *

  Garfield walked up to the top of the ridge and looked out. In the distance he could see the cattle milling around in the moonlight, and the flicker of their campfire in the cattle drive camp. It would be so easy to just walk in there in the dark and kill them all. But that wouldn’t have been in keeping with the image Seaforth Bailey had for Seaforth’s Raiders. No, they were going to have to ride in and take the herd in a blaze of glory—all the glory Seaforth still thought he had missed during the Civil War.

  Garfield didn’t know who had come out of that war more damaged: Seaforth, for what he wanted, or Garfield himself, for trying to help him get it?

  When Garfield felt the presence next to him he knew it was Sequoia, the half-breed. That was because he hadn’t heard him approaching. The breed was even more of an oddity than most, because Garfield knew he was half-white, but nobody seemed to know what the other half was.

  “You and me,” the breed said, “we could go down there and finish it before it start.”

  “I know we could.”

  “Then why do we not?”

  Garfield looked at the breed.

  “Because that’s not what he wants.”

  “And why is what he want more important than what we want?” the breed asked.

  “You know
,” Garfield said, “I ask myself that all the time.”

  He turned and walked back to camp.

  * * *

  * * *

  Chance McCandless spelled Jake four hours later, at the same time Taco and Desi went out to relieve Curly and Dundee. The two white hands came into camp as he was pouring coffee.

  “Enough for two more?” Dundee asked.

  “One,” Curly said. “I’m goin’ to sleep.”

  “Sure,” Chance said. “Have a seat.”

  Dundee sat across from Chance, who handed him a cup of coffee.

  “Quiet,” Dundee said, accepting the cup. “Too quiet out there. Do you think they’re watchin’ us?”

  “They’ve probably got someone watchin’,” Chance said.

  “I don’t understand Jake’s reasonin’ for why they won’t attack us at night,” Dundee said.

  “Arrogance?”

  “Yeah, that. How does a man get like that?”

  “Well,” Chance said, “it has to do with the way they’re educated, I guess . . . or not educated . . . or the kind of upbringin’ . . . ” He stopped, then tried again. “Uh, okay, I don’t really know. I mean, I’ve known a lot of arrogant men in my time, but not well enough to understand why they’re arrogant.”

  “Well, with this man,” Dundee said. “it seems to come from the war. I mean, he’s still wearing a Confederate jacket and insignia.”

  “Yeah, he is,” Chance said, “but the way the jacket looked, it’s like he put the insignia there himself. I get the feelin’ he wasn’t a major durin’ the war.”

  “Ah,” Dundee said, as if he was getting it, “so out of this arrogance he, sort of, promoted himself.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Dundee thought a moment, then said, “I still don’t get it.”

  “That’s good, really,” Chance said.

  “Why good?”

  “Because it means you’ll never become arrogant yourself,” Chance explained.

  “I wouldn’t want to,” Dundee said. He finished his coffee and put the cup down. “Thanks for the coffee. I’m gonna turn in.”