Ralph Compton Big Jake's Last Drive

by Robert J. Randisi

  “How about a drink?” Paxton asked.

  “Daniel,” Jenny Paxton said, “why not let Mr. Motley wash up and see his room before you ply him with liquor?”

  “She’s right, as usual,” Paxton said. “Let’s get that done and then I’ll pour you some good brandy.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Jake got washed up and put on a clean shirt to have supper with the Paxtons. When he came downstairs Paxton handed him the promised brandy.

  “You strike me as a beer man,” the rancher said, “but try this.”

  Jake sipped and said, “It’s very good.”

  “Let’s sit,” Paxton said.

  He had a desk in the front room, by the window, which reminded Jake of his own, but other than that the furniture was different. The chairs and sofa in his own house had been more rustic and handmade. This furniture looked like it was bought from a catalog. It was also cushiony, which was meant to be comfortable, but he didn’t like the way he was sinking into it.

  “What was it like?” Paxton asked. “I mean, your last trail drive.”

  “It was sad,” Jake said, “and hard, but also very satisfying. I hadn’t been on a drive in a while, leavin’ that to my younger hands. Took my bones a while to get comfortable in the saddle again.”

  “With that sorrel?”

  “No,” Jake said, “I bought that one when I left Dodge. I decided to spend some of my herd money on a good animal.”

  “Well, that’s a good one, all right.”

  Joe Paxton entered at that point, looking freshly scrubbed, which made him appear eighteen rather than in his twenties, which was what Jake had first figured.

  “Can I have some of that, Pa?” he asked.

  “One glass, son,” Paxton said.

  Joe poured it and sipped it appreciatively. He took his drink to a chair and sat.

  “We were just talkin’ about Jake’s herd,” Paxton told his son.

  “How many head did you drive, Mr. Motley?” Joe asked.

  “I only had six hundred for this final drive,” Jake said. “Far cry from the days when we drove two or three thousand.”

  “Wow,” Joe said, “that musta been somethin’. I’ve taken horses to market in Fort Worth, but I’ve never been on a cattle drive.”

  “It’s very different,” Jake said.

  They went on to talk more about the differences between driving a herd of cattle and a herd of horses, until Jenny Paxton came in and announced supper was ready.

  The conversation continued over supper as Joe Paxton asked question after question.

  “I just wish the cattle drives weren’t gone,” he said eventually. “I’d sign up for one in a minute.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” Jenny said. “Your father needs you right here.”

  “It’s backbreakin’ work, Joe,” Jake told him. “You’re not missin’ anythin’.”

  After supper Joe excused himself to go and do some chores.

  “Maybe we can talk some later?” Joe said to Jake.

  “Sure thing,” Jake said.

  After Joe left and Jenny was in the kitchen, Paxton and Jake sat at the table and drank coffee.

  “Sorry about all the questions,” Paxton said. “The boy’s startin’ to think he’s missin’ out on somethin’.”

  “That’s okay,” Jake said. “If I can discourage him, I will.”

  “I appreciate that,” the rancher said. “I really don’t need him goin’ off on his own right now. Maybe in a few years, when he’s older.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Nineteen,” Paxton said.

  “He’s still just a boy,” Jenny said, coming in from the kitchen.

  “He’s a young man, Jenny,” Paxton said, “but I still don’t want him to leave.”

  “I’ve been on my own since I was fifteen,” Jake said. “Might be why I’m so tired, these days.”

  “You seem to have done all right for yourself,” Jenny said. “The Big M and all.”

  “It was goin’ well for a time,” Jake admitted. “But then my wife died, my best friend left . . . everything fell apart. I can tell Joe all that, if you like.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jenny said. “I know that’s all very personal, but if hearin’ it will keep him home—”

  “We’ll keep ’im home, Jen,” Paxton said. “There’s no point in makin’ Jake talk about his troubles.”

  Jenny sat across from Jake and asked, “So what are you up to now?”

  “I’m huntin’ a man.”

  “Taken up bounty huntin’, then?” Paxton asked.

  “No,” Jake said. “During the drive, down around Three Rivers, he tried to take my herd, and killed my best friend.”

  “What will you do when you find him?” Jenny asked.

  “Kill ’im,” Jake said.

  She stood up, said, “Please don’t tell Joe that story,” and went back to the kitchen.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Paxton offered Jake a cigar out on the front porch. He accepted, and they sat there together, smoking.

  “You know,” Paxton said, “if you do want to tell Joe that story—”

  “If it comes up, I will,” Jake said. “But if he wants to go, can you really stop him?”

  “I don’t know,” Paxton said. “He’s never really tried to go, so I haven’t had to find out.”

  “Well, then, I hope you never do,” Jake said.

  They smoked a while longer before Paxton spoke again.

  “Who’s the man you’re huntin’?” he asked. “The one who killed your friend.”

  “My friend, my partner . . . almost my brother,” Jake said. “The man’s name is Seaforth Bailey.”

  “Seaforth’s Raiders?” Paxton asked.

  “You’ve heard of them?”

  “Well, sure,” Paxton said. “I was down that way once, deliverin’ some horses. I heard stories. Are they really an old Civil War band, like Quantrill?”

  “No,” Jake said, “but they wanna be.”

  He explained about the general store in Three Rivers, the licorice, the meeting with Seaforth, the gun battle, and the final shooting.

  “You don’t think you can take care of them yourself, do you?” Paxton asked. “I mean, there were four left the last time you saw them, but there’ll be more now.”

  “I’ll find out when I get there,” Jake said.

  “You’re not worried about gettin’ killed, are you?” Paxton asked.

  “As long as I kill Seaforth,” Jake said, “no.”

  “Jake,” Paxton said, “you’re only a few years older than I am. You’ve got a lot of life ahead of you.”

  “Abby’s dead, now Chance is dead,” Jake said, “and the Big M is gone. What life?” He stood up. “This is all I’ve got left. I’m gonna turn in. Tell Joe if he wants to talk, we can do it in the mornin’, before I leave.”

  “I’ll tell ’im.”

  Jake tossed the remnants of the cigar off the porch and went into the house. He was on his way up the stairs when Jenny appeared at the bottom.

  “Jake?”

  He turned and came back down. When he reached the bottom she put both hands on his chest.

  “Please don’t tell Joe anythin’ that will make him think leavin’ home is an adventure.”

  “If you want,” he said, “I’ll leave in the mornin’ without talkin’ to him again.”

  “No, no,” she said, removing her hands, “don’t do that. It’ll just make him wonder all the more. Daniel needs Joe here, Jake, to run the ranch.”

  “Seems to me you just have to make Joe understand that,” Jake said. “I’ll see what I can do, Jenny.”

  “Thank you, Jake.”

  “Thanks for the meal,” he said, “and the hospitality.”


  “See you in the morning,” she said. “I’ll have a big breakfast ready. It’ll take you through the day, if need be.”

  “Good night,” he said.

  He went up to his room and turned in. The bed was comfortable, and he fell into a dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  * * *

  In the morning he woke to the smell of coffee and bacon, feeling refreshed—unbelievably so. He didn’t know if it was the meal, the bed, or the company. Maybe his old bones just needed a good night’s sleep in a real bed.

  Or maybe he needed to stop thinking in terms of old bones.

  * * *

  * * *

  At breakfast Jenny was very quiet as she loaded the table with eggs, spuds, bacon, flapjacks, and biscuits. Joe, on the other hand, was very talkative, still full of questions for Big Jake Motley. Dan Paxton added to the conversation every so often, but for the most part it was Jake either answering or fending off Joe’s questions.

  Jenny was right about breakfast. There was enough food there to carry Jake for a week, so he stocked up, eating his fill and more. When he was done Jenny kissed his cheek and wished him luck. Dan and Joe Paxton walked him outside.

  “I’ll get your horse for you, Big Jake,” Joe said, and ran over to the barn to saddle the sorrel.

  “You did your best with those questions,” Dan said to Jake. “I appreciate it.”

  “I tried not to let any part of my life sound like an adventure,” Jake said, “even though most of it was.”

  “And the adventure’s not over, is it?”

  “I guess not.”

  “You know,” Paxton said, “after you’re done, if you want to come back here, you’re more than welcome.”

  “I appreciate that, Dan,” Jake said, shaking the man’s hand. “I’m gonna walk to the barn and have a few last words with Joe.”

  “That’s real kind of you.”

  Jake stepped down from the porch and walked to the barn. As he entered he saw Joe finishing up with the sorrel.

  “I was gonna bring ’im over to you, Big Jake,” Joe said.

  “I know,” Jake said, “I just wanted to talk to you alone before I left.”

  “You know,” Joe said, handing him the reins, “I’m thinkin’ about comin’ with you.”

  “I had a few friends who wanted to come along, and I told them no,” Jake said. “I’ll tell you the same. This is somethin’ I have to do alone.”

  “I get it,” Joe said, looking glum.

  “But I’ll tell you somethin’ your father can’t do alone, Joe,” Jake said, “and that’s run this ranch. I wish I’d had a son to help me. Maybe I’d still have the Big M.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Both your parents need you here,” Jake said. “Don’t be in a hurry to ride off, Joe. You’ve got a lot of years ahead of you.”

  “I guess you’re right, Big Jake.” They walked out together, shook hands, and Jake mounted up.

  As he rode out he looked back, saw that Joe had joined his father on the porch, and the two men waved. Jake waved back, then urged the sorrel into a canter. He hoped the Paxtons would have better luck with their ranch than he’d had with the Big M.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Major Seaforth Bailey watched as Teddy Garfield lined up all the new recruits in Seaforth’s Raiders on the main street of Three Rivers. Standing off to the side were Sequoia and Gus Walker, who were watching with interest.

  As Garfield got the ten men in a straight line, Major Seaforth stepped down from the boardwalk and approached. The citizens of Three Rivers were all inside, some watching from their windows or doorways.

  In the months since Big Jake Motley had fought the raiders off and moved on with his herd, Seaforth had come to terms with the defeat. Motley had outdone him, strategy-wise, but Seaforth also believed he just didn’t have enough men back then. Now, with these ten, he’d have a force of fourteen. He still felt sure that Jake Motley would be coming back for him, alone, or with some of his hands. Either way, Seaforth’s Raiders would be ready for him.

  “The men are ready, Major,” Garfield told him.

  Seaforth popped a piece of licorice into his mouth and said, “Thank you, Gar.”

  He had told Garfield he didn’t want any of the men to be too young or too old. He wanted experienced fighting men. What he was looking at were ten men in their thirties and forties, many of them scarred in some way from past battles. And, more importantly, none of them lived in or had any ties to the town of Three Rivers.

  “You men are all prepared to do what is necessary to be one of Seaforth’s Raiders?”

  “Yessir!” they all shouted.

  “Do you see these three men?” he asked, indicating Garfield, Sequoia, and Walker.

  “Yessir!”

  “They have been with me a long time,” Seaforth said. “They are your superiors, understand?”

  “Yessir!”

  “And this man,” Seaforth went on, indicating Garfield, “is my second in command. You obey him as you would me.”

  “Yessir!”

  “Now, when I dismiss you, you will be ready at a moment’s notice,” Seaforth said. “You can go to a saloon or a café, but none of you may go to a whorehouse. Is that understood?”

  This time the “Yessir!” was not as enthusiastic.

  “I said, is that understood?”

  “Yessir!”

  “Then . . . dismissed!”

  The men scattered as Garfield walked up to Seaforth.

  “These were the best you could do?” Seaforth asked.

  “You didn’t want young men, so yeah, this was it,” Garfield said. “They’ve all fought before.”

  “And from the looks of them,” Seaforth said, “they lost.”

  He walked away and entered a saloon, which he used as a base of operations. None of the new men dared go into that place, so they went to the only other saloon in town, across the street.

  Sequoia and Walker came over to Garfield.

  “What a group,” Walker said.

  “They’ll be fine when the fighting starts,” the breed said.

  “And when’s that gonna be?” Walker asked. “Does the Major still think Motley’s comin’ back for him?”

  “Definitely,” Garfield said. “And so do I. He’s going to have to get his revenge for me shooting that other old-timer right off his horse.”

  “It was a good shot,” Walker admitted.

  “It was a cinch,” Garfield said. “I’m going into the saloon with the Major. I want you two to keep an eye on those new men. Nobody goes to a whorehouse. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Walker said.

  “And that includes both of you.”

  “We understand,” Sequoia said.

  Walker and the breed went across the street while Garfield followed the Major into the saloon.

  Inside, he stopped at the bar and got himself a beer, then joined the Major at his table.

  The only thing he didn’t like about sitting with Seaforth was the constant smell of licorice coming off the man.

  “Why don’t you chew tobacco, like a normal man?” Garfield asked.

  “I like licorice,” Seaforth said. “Why don’t you chew tobacco?”

  “I don’t like it,” Garfield said. “I’d rather just smoke a cigarette.”

  Garfield sipped his beer while Seaforth poured himself another whiskey from the bottle on the table.

  “Are we going to do anything else besides wait for Big Jake Motley?” Garfield asked.

  “We’ll have plenty to do after we’ve finished with him,” Seaforth said.

  “I’ve been thinking about a few things,” Garfield said. “We could even do them while we’re waiting. There’s a payroll coming in on a stage—”

  “
We can do all of that after,” Seaforth said, cutting him off.

  Garfield put his head down and drank his beer.

  * * *

  * * *

  Gus Walker and Sequoia entered the other, smaller saloon where the new men were gathered. This one was called the Red Cherry, while the other, larger saloon was called the Sunrise. They were just places to drink. No gambling, no girls, no music.

  Some of the men were at the bar, others were seated at tables in twos and threes. The breed and Walker each got a beer and walked to an empty table.

  “How long have you been with the Major?” Walker asked.

  “Long time,” Sequoia answered.

  “Then you know,” Walker said, “if he’s ever wanted one man as much as he wants this Big Jake Motley.”

  For a moment Walker thought the breed wasn’t going to answer, but then Sequoia said, “No, there’s been no other. This is the only one.”

  “Well,” Walker said, “I hope he gets ’im soon. I’m gettin’ tired of waitin’ for some action.”

  Sequoia sipped his beer before responding.

  “You must show these others how to wait,” he said. “Do not show them impatience.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Walker said.

  The breed was the only one Walker could talk to. He didn’t dare speak to the Major without first being spoken to, and Garfield didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. The ten new men weren’t worth speaking to—at least, not yet. Maybe once he got to know them one or two might be interesting. But until then, it was only Sequoia, who actually did more listening than he did talking.

  “Yes,” the breed said, “that would be wise.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Seaforth had known Garfield a long time, long enough to recognize that the man was becoming impatient with him. But that was okay, because Seaforth Bailey was becoming impatient as well. He had expected Jake Motley to be back by now—no, he actually had expected to have killed him by now. The wait was becoming interminable, but he couldn’t let that show, not to the men, and not to Garfield.